


All of the While (It Was You)

by Gruoch, seekrest



Series: Such Great Heights [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (but make it spider-man), Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Identity Reveal, MJ is mj, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, canon nudged to the left, coffee shop AU, it’s just us and our whims now, narrator: almost everything dear reader, struggling actress MJ and human disaster Peter, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: “Honestly, MJ, you two are more alike than you think.”Michelle scoffs at that, insulted almost to the point of being speechless as Gwen says, “I think you’d really like him if you got to know him.”She stares at one of her best friends, wondering what she ever did to deserve someone as good and as kind and as caring as Gwen - knowing that Peter Parker of all people did not deserve her too.Michelle laughs, rolling her eyes as Gwen gives yet another exasperated sigh.“Not a chance.”
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Such Great Heights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119203
Comments: 660
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

The night after Michelle had received her acceptance letter to Juilliard, her parents had thrown her a celebration party—dinner at a fancy restaurant, cake, champagne, the whole-nine-yards. Then, they’d gone home and sat her down in the living room, and had gently, lovingly told her that if she was determined to pursue an education and a career in acting then they supported her one-hundred-percent, but wouldn’t it _also_ be wise to have a plan B, just in case? 

_Nothing wrong with having a backup plan,_ her father had cheerfully told her, while her mother smiled and nodded, the remainder of the celebration cake still sitting between them on the coffee table.

Michelle knew, deep down, that they weren’t _wrong,_ and that they gave this advice out of love and parental concern for her future and wellbeing. But another, louder, more stubborn part of herself felt that taking this advice would be dooming herself to failure, like accepting defeat before she even set out on the journey.

She had lain in bed that night and she had made a promise to herself: there would be no plan B, no parachute, no net. She’d bust her ass and hustle until she made it. That was it, the one and only plan.

She’d make other promises to herself over the next few years as she left home and pursued her dreams, some frivolous and some reasonable but every one treated seriously:

_Don’t settle for the role of best friend. Always go out for the lead._

_Cook at least four real meals at home per week._

_Call mom and dad every Sunday._

_Don’t date guys who like cars._

_Don’t date girls who hate chick flicks._

_Never fake an orgasm._

She very quickly finds that these promises to herself sound easy and unbreakable while lying in bed wrapped up inside her mind at twelve-thirty in the morning, but when faced with cold, harsh reality and the daily grind of life in the city, they quickly become more like guidelines than absolutes. The role of the lead actor’s stereotypically snarky best friend is suddenly acceptable when it helps you pay rent or buy takeout when you’ve come home exhausted from work and don’t feel like making yourself one of those real meals you swore you would. The Sunday phone calls home become every-other-week, or a couple of vague texts, or nothing at all. She dates several men who compensate for their shortcomings with needlessly expensive cars, and a couple of women with abominable opinions on chick flicks.

Which has made the whole _never fake an orgasm_ promise a lot more flexible over the years, too.

She’s considering bending that rule right now as she lies flat on her back, knees up in the air, while Brad—or is his name David? Whatever—hovers over her and thrusts into her like a piston.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Brad-or-maybe-David pants above her. “Is it good for you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Michelle lies. She resists the urge to check the clock on her bedside table, wondering how much longer this ordeal is going to last. Brad-or-maybe-David has great stamina, which would be awesome if he wasn’t absolutely terrible at sex in every other way. 

He’s already overstayed his welcome by about eight hours, staying the night after their initial tepid hookup yesterday evening. Michelle had managed to eke out an orgasm during that round by picturing Tessa Thompson’s biceps in her mind’s eye while Brad-or-maybe-David made a pathetic attempt at fingering her—Michelle had very quickly discovered that he was very cute but absolutely terrible at taking direction.

 _Fuck it,_ she decides. She lets out a little moan, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs. _Let’s get this over with._

“Oh, fuck, yeah, baby,” Brad-or-maybe-David eloquently replies, pistoning even faster. 

Michelle moans again, a little louder, and then decides she might as well use this as an opportunity to work on her craft. She writhes under Brad-or-maybe-David, panting. She throws her head from side-to-side on the pillow, her moaning rising in pitch and volume as she gets more into it, really committing to the act, finally bringing it home to a figurative-if-not-literal climax with an extended wail, her legs kicking against Brad-or-maybe-David’s back.

The act works—Brad-or-maybe-David’s hips start to stutter and then he lets out his own long, noisy groan, his face contorted as he comes. He releases one last breathy grunt before pulling out and rolling off Michelle with a contented sigh.

“Damn, girl—you loved that,” he says smugly. 

“Yep. Wow. You made me come so hard,” Michelle says briskly, finally glancing over at the clock. She sits up and swings her legs out of the bed, standing up and stalking naked over to her dresser.

“Anyway—I gotta be at work in an hour, so…” she says, digging a clean pair of underwear and a bra out of the dresser, hoping Brad-or-maybe-David could finally catch a hint.

Miraculously, he does. 

“Sure, I gotta run, anyway,” he says, rolling off the condom and tossing it into the waste bin under Michelle’s little desk without tying the end of it first. Michelle grimaces.

Brad-or-maybe-David doesn’t notice, too busy with gathering up his clothes and getting dressed. He tugs his shirt on and then smiles at Michelle as he walks over to her. He leans down to kiss her.

“Call me.”

“I will,” Michelle says, adding yet another lie to her pile.

He winks at her before leaving. Michelle watches him depart, and then shakes her head and she pulls a black t-shirt and black pants—the unofficial barista uniform at the Coffee Bean—from the drawer. 

“We’re hustling, we’re hustling,” she reminds herself in a sing-song voice under her breath as she heads to the bathroom to shower.

_This is all part of the plan._

Her roommate is waiting for her in the kitchen when Michelle walks out of the bathroom, looking at Michelle from under raised eyebrows.

“Who was that guy?” Gwen asks curiously. “He was cute.”

“Brad. Or maybe David, I dunno and I’m not gonna find out,” Michelle replies, sticking a piece of bread into the toaster.

“That bad, huh?” Gwen says dryly. “I never would have guessed. Sounded like you were having a _great_ time.”

“Well, I _am_ an actress,” Michelle drolly replies. “At least, I am in theory.”

Gwen grimaces. “I was gonna ask how your audition went yesterday, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

Michelle shrugs, buttering her toast a little aggressively and taking a savage bite out of it. “Hey, can’t win them all, right? Today’s a new day. Back on the grind. I’ve got another audition to flop at later this afternoon.”

“You should’ve filmed that orgasm for an audition tape. They’d hire you in an instant,” Gwen jokes, and then her expression softens, becoming sympathetic. “Hey, don’t get discouraged, okay? Rejection is part of being in a creative field.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s fine,” Michelle insists with a shrug. “Guess I’m just annoyed ‘cause Brad-David couldn’t even bring it home for me.”

She casts a wry smile at Gwen but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s well aware that Gwen is right about facing rejection as an artist, and that there are plenty of other talented actors dealing with the same struggle she is, but she graduated almost three years ago and hasn’t been able to land anything beyond a couple of bit parts in regional commercials and a few minor roles in small stage productions, and it’s hard to keep your head up when you feel stuck in the mud.

Gwen sees right through her smile.

“Hey, it’s gonna happen, Em. I know it. You’re too talented and hardworking to fail. You got this. The party tonight is gonna be a celebratory one,” Gwen says with her usual unfailing optimism.

Michelle feels a stab of guilt. Gwen has always been her biggest champion ever since they met at Juilliard. Their academic paths had been different—Michelle pursuing theater and Gwen training as a dancer—but they’d immediately bonded over being a pair of ambitious, studious over-achievers.

Gwen had never had the support system Michelle did, though—there had been no celebration party when Gwen had got her acceptance letter to Juilliard. Her father had always seen dance as a nice hobby but had firmly pushed his daughter away from the arts in favor of a more stable, lucrative career in a STEM field, offering her all kinds of incentives to sway her from her path.

Their apartment being one of them—Gwen had finally caved, hanging up her dancing shoes for an internship at Oscorp, and in return her father paid the rent for this little two bedroom pad. And Gwen, ever loyal and supportive, had immediately suggested that Michelle move in with her.

 _If you don’t have to worry about rent, you can work less at the coffee shop and go to more auditions,_ Gwen had reasoned.

It was an incredible gift, one that Michelle was eternally grateful for, but the fact that her stroke of good fortune came at the expense of Gwen’s own dreams lingered like a dark cloud in the back of her mind.

Michelle puts her toast down on the counter and goes to Gwen, hugging her tightly.

“I dunno what I’d do without you. You know you’re the best, right?” she murmurs to her.

“Sure do,” Gwen chirps, squeezing her back.

Michelle reluctantly lets her go, going over to the door and slipping her shoes on. “Well, I better run. Betty’s out on vacation and that useless idiot Parker only shows up for his shift half the time, so it’ll probably just be me manning the fort during the morning rush.”

“Peter isn’t a useless idiot,” Gwen insists, like she always does when that useless idiot gets brought up.

Michelle rolls her eyes. “I know he’s your friend but I seriously can’t understand why you defend him. He’s objectively awful. He should be fired.”

“If you’d just spend some time with him outside of work and get to know him better, you’d understand. He’s not terrible—he’s just…kinda bad at life. It’s not his fault.”

Michelle rolls her eyes again, grabbing her keys. “Bad at life. Okay. Sounds like a great guy, a real stand up human. I’ll be sure to remember that when he shows up forty-minutes late to his shift today, if he shows at all.”

“He _is.”_

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you after my audition this evening. You need me to pick up anything for the party?”

Gwen waves a hand. “I’m sure Harry will bring more than enough booze to keep the party going for a week straight if we wanted to.”

“Hey,” she adds, stopping Michelle at the door and offering her bright smile. “Your audition is gonna go great today, Em. I can feel it.”

Michelle returns her smile, pinching the end of Gwen’s nose, forever grateful for Gwen’s presence in her life. “Thanks, Gwendy. See you.”

* * *

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Michelle says to herself as she pushes the double doors to the Coffee Bean, the long line of disgruntled patrons annoying her more than Brad-or-maybe-David’s unfulfilling performance. 

She quickly rushes to the back, hearing the stammer of some guy named Harley who was still training and from Michelle’s estimation wouldn’t last a week at the job - much less the city.

She puts her hair up in a ponytail before fixing her apron, rushing out to the front with the most dazzling smile she can muster as a customer scowls at Harley.

“Why are you making this so difficult?”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Harley says, looking just as bewildered as he sounds before he glances helplessly at Michelle. “I tried to put in the order but—“

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Michelle asks, ignoring Harley as she usually did as the woman in front of her scowls.

“I _asked_ for a grande mocha Frappuccino with caramel drizzle, no foam, no whip, no cream and no sugar with almond milk,” the woman sneers - shooting daggers at Harley before looking back to Michelle, “almost _ten_ minutes ago.”

“I tried to explain that—“ Harley begins to say but Michelle just smiles sweetly at the woman, grabbing a clear cup and writing down the nonsensical order as she says, “No worries, ma’am. We’ll have that right out for you.” 

Harley sputters a few times as the woman grumbles to herself, Michelle forcibly shoving him and the cup away as she rings the woman up. She switches tasks like a pro - something she’s unfortunately become in the almost four years she’s worked here - putting Harley back on the cashier as she works to make the woman’s drink as well as the rest of the customers’ in line. 

The rush passed generally without complaint, Michelle cleaning out the spoons as Harley sighs and asks, “What the hell did you give that woman?”

“What she asked for,” Michelle replies, not too keen on the idea of justifying herself to another disappointing man twice in one day. Michelle was a gifted actress but even _she_ had her limits.

“What she asked for didn’t make sense,” Harley argues, Michelle looking at him in exasperation as she says, “Obviously, but it’s better to pretend like it does and move on than sit there and argue with her and hold the rest of the line up.”

Harley’s mouth turns into a small o, an action that just aggravates her further only for the bells above the door to ring - Michelle bracing herself for another customer only to smirk when she sees who it is.

“Excuuuuuuse me ma’am,” Ned says dramatically, Harry grinning behind him as Michelle shakes her head, “Can I have the literal most expensive, most _disgusting_ drink that you can think of? In a frappucino. In a VENTI. That will take you forty-five minutes to complete? Please.”

“You messed up, Leeds. No self-respecting Karen would ever say _please_ ,” Michelle says with a grin, Ned laughing as Harry joins in.

“Dammit I almost had it this time,” Ned says cheerfully, Michelle already going to work on Ned’s _actual_ usual order - soy latte, no whip - as Harry leans over the counter, nodding towards Harley whose back was to them.

“How’s the new kid?” Harry stage whispers, Michelle rolling her eyes as she works the frothing machine. 

“I give him another week, tops,” Michelle says under her breath, Harry raising an eyebrow as she glares at him. “And yet for as shitty as he is, he’s ten times better than Peter has ever been.”

“MJ, don’t start—“ Harry says, leaning up from the counter as Michelle makes Ned’s drink.

“I’m not gonna stop until I figure out what the hell kind of hold that dumbass has on all of you,” she says, shooting a look towards Ned who is now inordinately fascinated with the chalk menu rather than look at her. “He never shows up to anything on time. He leaves me high and dry with idiots,” she says, nodding in Harley’s direction, “and you all just look at him like the sun shines out of his ass half the time.”

“He’s a—“

“Good person, I know. Gwen tells me almost every day,” Michelle says as she puts Ned’s drink on the counter and moves to pour some black coffee for Harry.

Despite being the owner of the Coffee Bean, Harry was surprisingly low key with his coffee order just as he’s baffably okay with Peter’s perpetual lateness and Michelle’s complaining about him. She knows she has it good, relatively speaking - a good relationship with her “boss” even if Harry would shudder at the term. Talking shit about Peter was something they bonded over, even if in Michelle’s eyes, Harry was still frustratingly okay with how terrible of a person Peter is.

“I don’t know what kind of hold he has over you guys,” she says, glaring at Ned until he finally breaks and looks at her, “but I’m gonna figure it out.”

“Why are you obsessed with figuring him out? Peter’s a good guy, MJ. I think you’d really like him if you ever—”

“I’m not obsessed with him, I’m just observant,” Michelle quickly interjects, scowling at how Ned just seems to smirk at that as Harry sighs. She turns to him and says, “I’m not.” 

“Whatever you say, MJ,” Ned says, Michelle going to argue further only for the bell to ring - Michelle half-expecting Peter to finally show up for his shift only for it to be a gaggle of college kids instead. 

Harry pats the counter with a smile, Ned waving as the two of them move towards “their” table and chair - ironic considering Harry owned the place and could conceivably sit anywhere. 

But just as it was routine for Peter to be absurdly late to his shift - if he even deigned to show up at _all_ \- Ned and Harry coming in and working on whatever science shit that they had going on was at least a highlight of Michelle’s day. 

Working customer service was a drag but Michelle was at least grateful that it was a steady job - one that since Harry owned the place, gave her the freedom to take any audition that she needed no matter how it conflicted with a regular barista’s schedule.

Michelle forces yet another dazzling smile at the college kids, a pretty girl with blonde hair leading the pack as they walked to the counter - Michelle reminding herself that all of this was just temporary. 

She was going to make it big, she _had_ to - failure wasn’t an option. 

Michelle just had to keep trying. 

* * *

Michelle’s blown another audition.

No—she _nailed_ the audition. The casting director had had plenty of glowing praise for her. 

“It’s just,” the woman had added, crossing and uncrossing her legs, “we’re looking for someone a little more…”

She’d paused, glancing over at her colleague sitting beside her for help.

“All-American,” he had supplied for her.

“You mean white,” Michelle had bluntly replied, which had sent the duo instantly squirming and stuttering out feeble denials and elaborations.

Michelle hadn’t bothered listening to any of it. It was something she had grown used to by this point. She had just collected her bag and walked out.

She stands now on the sidewalk outside the building, squinting under the fluorescent glow of the street lamp overhead, trying to get her racing pulse under control. There’s no point in getting bent out of shape, she knows, but she’s mad anyway, a hot righteous anger spreading under her skin.

_This is why mom and dad wanted you to have a plan B._

The thought springs up unbidden in her mind, an insidious whisper that’s been growing louder and louder as the years pass. It makes her even angrier, standing there in the middle of the city, her fists clenched in mute indignation.

The pedestrians passing by ignore her, lost in their own struggles as they rush to their destinations. Someone bumps into her without stopping or apologizing, sending her stumbling sideways. Her bag slides off her shoulder and drops to the ground, spilling its contents across the concrete, like the universe is rubbing salt in her wounds.

“Fuck,” Michelle mutters, quickly kneeling down and scrambling to toss everything back inside her bag before it gets trampled or disappears.

She’s reaching for her phone when a red-gloved hand grabs it first. Her head jerks up, startled, her eyes meeting wide white lenses peering back at her from a masked face.

Spider-Man holds the phone out to her. “You okay, miss?”

Michelle’s momentarily too startled by the sight of him to answer. She’s seen plenty of Spider-Man, of course, on TV and the internet and even a handful of glimpses in real life. It’s just another part of living in the city, something she barely even thinks about. But she’s never seen him this up close and personal before. 

“You okay?” he asks again, still holding her phone out.

Michelle shakes herself out of her stupor and takes it from him.

“I’m fine,” she says shortly, brushing her hair back from her face and standing. 

Spider-Man stands, too. He’s a little shorter than she is in her heels, and that surprises her, as well, for some reason—the lowered expectations of reality clashing with the larger-than-life aura around superheroes, maybe.

“You sure?” he asks. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You want me to swing over and trip that guy who pushed you? ‘Cause I’d do it. Maybe web him to a dumpster like the inconsiderate trash he is?”

Michelle finds herself smiling despite her foul mood.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “This city is full of assholes. If you chased after every one, you’d never have time for anything else.”

Spider-Man shrugs. “All part of the job, right?”

Michelle can’t see his expression with the mask, but she thinks he might be smiling, too. She studies him, noticing now that he looks a little worse for wear—the suit is scuffed and torn in places, and a tuft of brown hair sticks up through a hole in the top of the mask. Michelle frowns.

“Are _you_ okay?” she asks.

Spider-Man seems taken aback by the question. He shifts his weight, the lenses of his mask going wider. He lets out a bark of laughter. “Wow, that’s...a weird question.”

“Okay? Sorry,” Michelle mutters, hiking her bag up on her shoulder.

“Oh, no—I mean, it’s not _weird,”_ Spider-Man quickly backtracks. “It’s... _nice,_ actually. Just—I’m not used to people asking _me_ if I’m okay. So. Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Michelle shrugs, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Sure. Anyway...I’m going somewhere, so....”

“Yeah, yep. I’ll see you around, Red. Be careful out there,” Spider-Man says, giving her a friendly little punch in the shoulder.

Michelle smiles again, wider, finding his awkwardness amusing and strangely endearing. “Yeah, maybe.”

She lifts a hand and waves before turning and heading towards home. She glances back when she reaches the corner, but Spider-Man has vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Michelle shrugs as she crosses the street, glad that she at least has an interesting story to tell about this otherwise shit-show of a day.

She‘s coming up to her apartment building when her phone, still clutched in her hand, buzzes. She glances at the screen to find a text from Gwen.

_hey em the gang’s all here. Will u be home soon?_

_Yep coming up now,_ Michelle types back as she heads inside the building.

_Great! Just fyi...Peter’s here too. Pls be nice_

Michelle clenches her jaw as she reads that text, stomping up the stairs. Her foul mood is back, hanging like a storm cloud over her head. She debates blowing her friends off and going to a bar, but she’s already made it to her floor.

Gwen greets her at the door, pretty face already flushed and soft-eyed with drink. She throws her arms around Michelle’s neck, giggling as she stumbles.

“You’re a cheap date, Stacy. The party’s barely started,” Michelle teases, hugging her back.

“I know. I’m an absolute lightweight,” Gwen agrees brightly, leaning back to smile at Michelle. “How’d the audition go?”

Michelle returns her smile with a brittle one of her own. 

“Where’s the vodka?” she asks instead of answering. 

But the question itself says enough. Gwen’s face falls momentarily before she smiles again, squeezing Michelle’s shoulders. “Never mind. It was for a bit part, anyway, right? You’re too good for that, Em. This just means you’re free for when something really good comes up.”

Michelle has to work to keep the smile on her face. Sweet Gwen—Michelle wishes she had an ounce of her confidence in her own future. 

She waves at Harry and Ned before making a beeline for the kitchen, weaving past other guests, desperate for a drink to wash away the bitter dregs of the day. She finds a bottle of top-shelf vodka that Harry must have brought over and pours herself a shot, downing it and letting out a sigh, her head hanging heavy on her neck.

“Rough day?” a voice asks from behind her.

Michelle’s spine instantly stiffens, her dark mood getting even blacker. She pours herself another shot and gulps it down, grimacing at the burn.

“Yeah, you could say that. It could have gone a lot smoother if you’d actually shown up for your shift instead of leaving me high and dry with Keener,” Michelle says flatly, turning around to face Peter.

He has the courtesy to look a little ashamed, which Michelle might find satisfying if she had room for any emotion other than frustrated rage when it came to Peter Parker.

“Yeah, sorry. I had...uh, a family emergency,” he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer. He cracks it open and drinks about half of it in a single swig.

“Uh-huh,” Michelle says dubiously, narrowing her eyes at him. Peter has yet another shiner ringing his right eye, and she considers asking about it just to watch him squirm for another terrible lie. She’s pretty sure he’s involved in some kind of shady business—drugs maybe, or robbery—despite Gwen and Ned and Harry’s vehement denials.

“You dyed your hair since the last time I saw you,” Peter says, abruptly changing the subject. “Did you do that for an acting job? Gwen says you had an audition today...”

“No. Just felt like doing it,” Michelle says curtly, willing him to leave her alone.

“Oh, okay. Well, red looks good on you. Really good.”

Peter smiles at her, taking another swig of beer. Michelle narrows her eyes at him again, bristling at the compliment.

 _Is this douchebag seriously hitting on me?_ she wonders.

“I guess the audition didn’t go great,” he continues.

Michelle stiffens up further, grinding her teeth. “Why do you say that?”

Peter shrugs, gesturing to the vodka bottle with his beer, a wry smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “I dunno...maybe ‘cause you’re in here downing shots by yourself. Doesn’t strike me as a celebratory move, Red.”

“I’m not alone. You’re here,” she points out sharply, hoping he’ll take the hint to leave. 

Peter shrugs again, still smiling. “Yeah, well, maybe I had a rough day, too.”

Michelle resists the urge to roll her eyes at him. She doubts he’s ever had a rough day in his life, considering the way he seems to float through his days without any effort or ambitions, leeching off the kindness of his brainwashed friends like a parasite.

“Oh yeah, I bet it was,” she replies, a bitter, sarcastic edge to her voice.

Peter drains the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can into the recycling bin under the sink.

“Hey, don’t sweat the audition. You gotta be used to rejection by now, right? All part of the acting thing,” he says, grinning and giving her a little punch on her shoulder.

Michelle bristles again, both from the unwanted physical contact and the asshole comment. There’s another sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but Peter’s already walking away to join Gwen and Ned, who welcome him with bright, drunken grins. 

Michelle’s still fuming from her conversation with Peter as she takes another shot, hearing a whistle to her left side as she glances to Harry who looks at her with an amused expression on his face.

“Easy, it’s not even nine,” Harry says kindly, Michelle just scowling as she swallows - the vodka burning her throat as she does. 

“I’m gonna need it to get through tonight,” she says, Harry following her line of sight and laughing under his breath as he leans against the counter - party guests moving in and out of their way as Ned, Gwen and Peter laugh together on the couch. 

“Too bad Flash’s not in town, I think we’d feel less like the fourth and fifth wheel,” Harry says as he takes a sip of his own drink, Michelle shrugging as she turns away from the rest of them on the couch. 

Harry mirrors her action, gently nudging her with his elbow as he asks, “You okay?”

“Perfect. Peachy keen. Never been better,” Michelle says, avoiding his gaze until she can’t stand it anymore. She looks back to him, seeing the concern written all over his face as he asks, “I’m guessing the audition didn’t go well.”

“You can say that again,” Michelle mutters, groaning as she puts her head in her hands. She hears Harry put his drink down and then feels his hand on her back, gently rubbing it up and down as she sighs.

“Sorry, MJ. I know you were really hoping—”

“I just don’t get it, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong,” Michelle says, the frustration of the day’s events weighing down on her. She’d known it was a shitty day from the moment she’d woken up, Brad-David’s disappointing performance the harbinger for doom that she should’ve anticipated from the moment it happened. 

“I don’t think you’re doing anything _wrong,_ it just might not be the right time—” Harry gently tries to encourage but Michelle’s on a roll now, bringing her head out of her hands and throwing her hands in front of her. 

“I work my _ass_ off all through college to be the best. I go to all the right auditions, I suffered through every terrible improv class and low-budget student film that’s ever been thrown my way. I stick my neck out over and _over_ again on these shitty auditions with these shitty directors and it’s like it means nothing. Nothing! And it doesn’t help that the one job I _do_ have is with the most idiotic, selfish asshole that I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll be sure to work on that though I don’t think I can stop being an idiot, kind of an Obsorn staple,” Harry says with a chuckle as he brings his hand down, Michelle giving him a look.

“You know who I’m talking about.” 

Harry sighs, his shoulders sagging as he looks over his shoulder - Michelle now following his line of sight only for her stomach to do acrobatics at seeing the three of them on the couch. Ned’s arm is wrapped around Gwen whose almost sitting on his lap for how close they are, Peter animatedly talking about God knows what as Ned and Gwen listen to him. 

If Michelle was completely honest with herself, there was a streak of jealousy that burned within her that Peter, Ned and Gwen had known each other for as long as they did. Gwen may have been her roommate for all of college but that little trio on the couch had known each other since _high school_ \- Michelle thinking not for the first time how different her life would’ve been had she gone to Midtown like her parents had originally wanted her to. 

But even as a teenager, Michelle knew exactly what she wanted to do. The sciences were interesting, sure but they paled in comparison to the arts, a feeling of _rightness_ anytime she stepped on the stage. 

It was made all the more frustrating that she couldn’t seem to find that right _fit_ , just as it frustrated her even more so that even within her own friend group - she felt like the odd one out. 

“They really are a dream team huh?” Harry asks, Michelle turning her attention back to Harry and feeling a pang of both empathy and solidarity with him - the one person who probably understood her best, aside from Gwen.

Michelle may have met Ned and Peter through Gwen but Harry was the one Michelle had met all on her own - bumping into each other on the city street like some scene out of a rom com. Their relationship if it could even be called that was lightning hot and then fizzled out but a friendship still remained, one that she was protective of even if it burned her insides to find out that _Peter_ knew Harry too. 

But for as long as Harry knew the rest of them, the expression on his face illustrated to Michelle that he too felt just as much of an outsider when metaphorically standing next to the Golden Trio - Michelle raising up her empty glass to him as he looks back at her. 

“Not as good as us,” Michelle says with a genuine smile, Harry smirking at her before gently clinking his glass with hers. 

“You said it, not me.” 

Michelle laughs, turning around in an attempt to not feel sorry for herself and mingle only to see Peter stand up quickly - Ned and Gwen having twin expression of worry on their face that Michelle can’t make sense of as he grabs his phone. 

He mutters something that Michelle can’t decipher despite her extensive skills in lip reading, a familiar look on his face that brings up that same surge of annoyance as he slips his phone back in his pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michelle says as she sighs, Peter slipping in between party guests out of the corner of his eye - no doubt dipping off to wherever the hell he usually ran off to, the first thought coming to Michelle’s mind that whatever it was, he wouldn’t be back in time to help with party clean up. 

“What do you think it is this time?” Harry asks with a laugh, Michelle rolling her eyes as she scours the room for where she can get more alcohol. 

“Don’t know, don’t care. I need a drink,” she says, hearing Harry’s laughter as she walks away - only for Gwen to show up out of nowhere in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing in that way it always does when confronted with a problem. 

“Nothing except for the continual reminder that my friends need better friends,” she says, catching the exasperated look on Gwen’s face. 

“MJ—”

“I don’t wanna hear it and I don’t wanna argue,” Michelle says, putting a hand up. “You’re the smartest person I know but I guess everyone has a blind spot.”

“He’s really not—”

“If you say he’s not that bad one more time,” Michelle says, Gwen giving her a look as she tilts her head. 

“Honestly, MJ, you two are more alike than you think.”

Michelle scoffs at that, insulted almost to the point of being speechless as Gwen says, “I think you’d really like him if you got to know him.”

She stares at one of her best friends, wondering what she ever did to deserve someone as good and as kind and as caring as Gwen and knowing that Peter Parker of all people did _not_ deserve her too. 

Michelle laughs, rolling her eyes as Gwen gives yet another exasperated sigh. 

“Not a chance.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Michelle blows loose strands of hair away from her face, wiping up some spilled soy milk from the counter with a rag. The chaos of the morning rush has finally come to an end, descending into a quiet lull that will last until the crowd returns seeking their afternoon caffeine jolt. 

But for now, Michelle finally has a chance to catch her breath after the relentless flurry of orders. She _should_ feel relieved by this break in the action, but what she actually feels is pissed.

Very, _very_ pissed.

She leaves the Keener kid to refill the napkins and straws and marches over the corner table where Harry sits, typing away at his laptop.

Michelle sets a cup of black coffee down on the table hard enough that some of the aromatic liquid splashes out. Harry jerks his laptop away to safety, looking up at Michelle with wide, surprised eyes, his eyebrows raised.

“So,” Michelle says.

Harry blinks at her. “So?”

“When are you gonna fire him?”

Harry blinks again, a confused furrow appearing between his brows. He glances over at Keener, who’s dutifully replacing the milk pitchers with fresh ones. “Harley? I thought he was starting to get the hang of—“

Michelle impatiently waves a hand. “Don’t be cute. You know I’m talking about Parker. He didn’t show up for his shift again.”

Harry shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah—he called to say his aunt is ill and he was taking her to the doctor. He’ll be in later.”

Michelle makes an incredulous scoffing sound, her own eyebrows jumping up towards her hairline. “Harry? His _aunt?_ You mean the aunt who showed up here this morning? The aunt who asked me where Peter was? If I recall correctly, she ordered a matcha latte and a bran muffin. She was dressed like she was headed to a meeting. So unless Parker has _another_ sick aunt somewhere that he’s dutifully nursing back to health, I’d say he’s a liar in addition to being a flake.” 

She fixes Harry with a hard look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Does he have another aunt, Harry?”

“No,” Harry admits with a pained grimace, squirming even more. “Look—I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Michelle rolls her eyes. She’s heard this bullshit from him—and Gwen and Ned—a thousand times before. She waves her hand again, irritated. “You know as well as I do that that’s pointless. You gotta bite the bullet and get rid of him. Hire someone who _actually_ does the work you pay them to do.”

“I hired Harley—“

“Keener’s a lost cause. He’ll be back in whatever yeehaw state he’s from before the end of the month,” Michelle says flatly. “I’m serious, Harry—I’m sick of doing the work of three people and picking up after Parker’s slack all the time. Things have gotta change, or maybe I need to find another job.”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it—Michelle will never find a boss who’s as generous and flexible as Harry is, and she needs that if she’s ever going to get anywhere with her acting career. 

But Harry nods, sighing. “I’ll hire someone else to help out during the morning shift, alright?”

Michelle clenches her jaw, considering. She’d rather be rid of Parker entirely, but she grudgingly accepts that this is a fair compromise—for now.

“Fine,” she agrees. “But only if I get a raise, too. Double my current wage.”

Harry gives her a rueful smile, reaching out a hand. “You always get your way, Jones, don’t you? You’re gonna make it big one day, and I’ll get to tell everyone that this is where you started out. What an honor.”

“Damn right,” Michelle says, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.

The promise of a substantial raise and another helping hand around the coffee shop buoys her through the rest of the morning, but her elevated mood doesn’t last. 

Peter finally— _finally—_ shows up right as things are starting to get busy again, the coffee shop rapidly filling up. 

Michelle’s racing around like an efficient machine, dropping tea bags into a mug with one hand while operating the espresso machine with the other. She briskly turns around with the tea and espresso in hand and promptly runs straight into Peter’s surprisingly solid body.

“Shit!” she hisses as the steaming hot water in the tea cup spills over her hand. She drops the cup on reflex, but Peter catches it on the toe of his shoe before it hits the ground, lightning quick. 

“Hey, nice catch, pal,” a guy waiting in line praises, leading a smattering of applause.

Michelle just scowls, shaking her burnt fingers. No pay raise is worth having to deal with this douchebag, she thinks. She wonders if she should just rip her apron off and march out the door, never look back again. She could get by on her own while she waits for her acting career to take off—sell plasma, maybe, or pictures of her feet to weirdos on the internet, or—

“Whoa, careful, there,” Peter says with a smug little smirk, lifting the cup up with one finger hooked through its handle. “Watch where you’re going, lady.”

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Michelle snaps back, snatching the cup from him and taking it over to the sink. She nearly breaks it again with how forcefully she sets it down inside the stainless steel basin.

“How’s your aunt feeling?” she asks Peter pointedly as she starts to make a new cup of tea and he takes his sweet time tying his apron on.

“She’ll be alright,” Peter says with a shrug, focusing an intense amount of concentration on the knot he’s tying.

“Yeah, she looked like the picture of health when she stopped by to get a latte this morning,” Michelle says drolly. 

She feels an almost sadistic satisfaction in the way Peter’s head snaps up and all the color drains out of his face, to be replaced a moment later by a pretty pink flush that spreads down the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones all the way to the tips of his ears.

“She did?” he asks, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, offering Michelle a weak smile. “I mean, yeah, I bet she did. She never listens to her doctors when they tell her to stay home and rest. She must have left while I was...out. Getting...you know—medicine and stuff for her. Ha.”

Michelle sets the tea on the counter and then turns to give him a level look. “Wow, you suck at lying. Do you _really_ expect me to swallow that?”

“If I make a desperate bid to deflect from answering your questions by telling you a revolting, highly inappropriate, and _very_ unfunny joke involving your use of the words _suck_ and _swallowing,_ will you promise not to report me to Harry for harassment?” Peter asks, his expression hopeful.

Michelle rolls her eyes, making a noise of disgust.

“I’m pretty sure you could spit in Harry’s face and take a dump in his shoes, and he’d thank you for it by giving you a promotion. And relax—I really don’t give a single fuck about whatever dumb shit you get up to in your private life, as long as you show up to your shift,” she says as she turns away from him and gets back to work.

* * *

It’s a feature of working at a coffee shop that Michelle meets a lot of interesting people. 

Some are objectively terrible - the stereotypical Karens who peaked in high school and are now intertwined with various multi-level marketing schemes, committed to making their barista’s life just as hellish as their own existence. 

Some were weird and not the kind of weird Michelle enjoyed - glaring at creeps that told her ‘she’d look better with a smile’ and wondering every single time if the good graces she had with Harry would extend to banning customers without remorse. 

He'd yet to get onto her for it and if things ever got that bad, Michelle knew that Harry would be more than willing to accept any complaints that she got with the kind of professionalism that had clearly been ingrained in him since birth by virtue of being an Osborn.

Yet all of her complaints about Peter seemed to go in one ear and out the other, no matter how many times she tried to tell him otherwise. It was the one thing that Harry wouldn't budge on, even if he frustratingly continued to hire people to fill in the gaps that Peter clearly couldn't fill.

It was an objective waste of money - if Peter just showed up to the shifts that he was assigned for, Harry wouldn't have to invest so much time in hiring people to help cover the spaces that Peter left. But Michelle could only reason with herself that if Harry was as rich as he was, that maybe pouring money into employees of his coffee shop pet project was a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things.

For Michelle however, this just meant that she was continually subjected to the whims and terrible time management skills of Peter Parker - his particular brand of idiocy frustrating her to no end.

"Stop flirting with Mario and get to work," Michelle almost hisses at him in the breakroom as she grabbed some more almond milk from the fridge in the back. Peter just scoffs at her as he ties the apron from his midsection - rushing from a suspiciously long bathroom break that makes Michelle already dread having to go and pee later.

"I'm not _flirting_ , Michelle. I'm being nice," Peter counters, Michelle rolling her eyes as she grabs the almond carton only for Peter - asshole - to take it from her hands, staring at her with an annoyed expression as he says, "It's called new employee training."

"New employee training my ass," Michelle bounces back, trying and failing to wrestle the almond milk back from him before he brings it back to the front and the new barista Harry just hired and Michelle already anticipates is going to quit by day's end will think of Peter as their knight and shining armor. "You've been flirting with him all day. Maybe use some of that charm on the customers and we'll actually have tips tonight."

Peter quirks an eyebrow at her, frowning as she Michelle sighs and gives up on grabbing the almond milk before he says, "Wait, you think I'm charming?"

"I didn't say you're _charming_ , I say you have charm. Magnetism. Magic powers. Something to explain why everyone seems to worship the ground you walk on rather than seeing you for what you are."

Peter just squints at her, looking half-amused and half-offended as he shakes his head and asks, "And who exactly do you think I am?"

"Annoying. Frustratingly incapable of ever keeping your word. Involved in some kind of shady shit for all the times you dip. I don't know what your deal is Parker, but I don't like it and I don't like you."

Michelle's usually a much better actress than this - _God, she hope so at least_ \- having what she had believed to be enough common decency to not tell Peter to his face just how frustrating being around him was. But a combination of a week of failed auditions that sucked more than the last, a fucked up sleep schedule from the one job she did get for an improv production with an old friend from college, and the fact that she hasn't had sex since Brad-or-maybe-David pushed over the edge.

Peter _flirting_ with anyone didn't bother her so much as it reminded her yet again of how unfair it was that Peter could be objectively a terrible person in several ways and yet could still be so frustratingly interesting to anyone with a pulse. 

She doesn't miss the way Peter grinds his teeth together, pressing his lips together and staring at her before he straightens up and says, "I didn't realize you felt that way."

"Yeah well, now you know," Michelle huffs out, only feeling slightly bad about the way Peter's expression shifts - more hurt than amused - only to feel vindicated when he says, "Well it's not like you're the easiest person to get along with anyway."

"What does that even mean?" Michelle asks, Peter looking as if he's about to launch into some diatribe that she already knows is going to raise her blood pressure when a voice interrupts them.

"Uh guys? Can I get a little help here?" Mario asks, Michelle and Peter both turning to him and seeing the panicked expression on his face as he throws a thumb behind him. "I'm really glad you guys trust me and all but it's getting a little intense out there and I really don't think I should be the one doing all of this by myself."

Michelle puts on a smile, nodding a few times as she says, "Yeah, yeah of course."

Michelle makes a grab for the almond milk again and this time Peter freely hands it over, not missing the expression on his face as she steps past him.

If Gwen hears about this, and it's inevitable that she will - either from Peter saying something to Ned or Michelle telling her herself - Michelle can already anticipate how disappointed that she'll be in the two of them fighting.

As much as it pained her to think of doing anything to hurt Gwen, Michelle has just about reached her limit with making excuses for Peter Parker.

* * *

“Grande iced sugar-free vanilla latte with soy milk,” Michelle announces mechanically as she hands a to-go cup over the counter to an executive in a dark business suit.

The man looks up from his Stark phone, making an exasperated noise. “I asked for almond milk. I have a soy intolerance.”

Michelle presses her lips together before forcing an apologetic smile onto her face. “Sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.”

The man makes another irritated noise, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter. 

Michelle turns away from him, the smile dropping off her face into a tight-lipped scowl as she walks over and dumps the drink out in the sink.

“You’re off your game today, Jones,” Harry murmurs to her as he piles an unholy amount of whipped cream onto a frappuccino. He’s stepped in to help during the morning rush, Peter being a no-show yet again and Keener having finally, predictably thrown in the towel and gone home to Tennessee, leaving the crew short-handed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” Michelle replies as she remakes the order.

It’s half-true—she’s had a string of auditions over the past couple of weeks and filmed a bit part in a luxury car commercial on top of her day job here at the Coffee Bean. The commercial had been a brief triumph—until her part had been cut out. She’s seriously starting to wonder if this is it for her, if she’s just going to be stuck here making ridiculously frivolous coffee orders for entitled corporate dicks and burnt-out college students.

Harry nudges her with his shoulder, a kind, understanding smile turning up his mouth. “Hey—why don’t you take off after the rush is over. I’ll still pay you for a full day. You deserve a little break.”

Michelle returns his smile, reminded again of how fortunate she is to have such great friends in her life. “Thanks, Harry.”

She manages to get through the rest of the morning without screwing up any more orders, although she is occasionally tempted to purposefully make a shitty cup of coffee for certain asshole customers with the hope that they would take their business elsewhere in the future.

She takes the trash out as she leaves as a favor to Harry, since Peter still hasn’t shown up. Mario comes in right as Michelle’s heading towards the back door, dragging the bag of garbage behind herself. He gives her an anxious smile.

“Hey, Michelle. Are you leaving?” he asks as he puts his apron on.

“Yeah, but don’t worry—Harry’s here, so he can help you out.”

“Oh, good,” Mario says, looking relieved. He gestures to the trash bag in Michelle’s hands. “Here—I’ll get that for you.”

“I got it. Go help Harry,” Michelle says, hoisting the bag up as she pushes the door open.

She steps out into the narrow alley behind the building where the dumpster is, and then pulls up short in surprise at the sight that greets her there.

Peter is standing next to the dumpster wearing nothing but a pair of dark briefs. His arms are stuck through the sleeves of his t-shirt like he was in the process of putting it on when Michelle stepped out and interrupted him.

For a long, uncomfortable moment they just stare at each other, expressions of shock mirrored on their faces. 

Peter breaks first.

“Uh, oh, hey, Michelle,” he splutters. “This is _not_ what it looks like.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows, bemusement overcoming her initial shock. She puts her free hand on her hip, smirking at him. “What does it look like?”

Peter just gapes at her, his mouth opening and closing. He’s furiously blushing, his ears bright red.

But Michelle’s not paying much attention to his ears, because the rest of Peter that’s on display is objectively, exquisitely appealing—all long, lean, defined muscle, like something carved from marble. Michelle thinks her dry spell since her unsatisfactory hookup with Brad-or-maybe-David must seriously be warping her mind, because she feels a little coil of heat tightening low in her belly as she gazes at Peter.

She makes herself look away, picking the trash bag up and carrying it over to the dumpster. “Chill. Like I said—I don’t care about your personal life. If you and Mario wanna fool around by a smelly dumpster, go for it. Just don’t do it when you’re supposed to be on the clock.”

“Me and Mario?” Peter echoes. “Whoa, hold on—“

Michelle hurls the bag into the dumpster, wiping her hands on her pants as she turns to face him again. “Stop. It’s painful listening to you struggle to come up with an excuse that doesn’t sound completely fake. I’m seriously not interested. I just want to go home, put on pajamas, binge the Great British Bake Off for the rest of the afternoon and forget all about this.”

Peter clears his throat, nodding as he tugs his t-shirt the rest of the way on. “Okay, yeah, cool. You do that. I’m gonna go inside now.”

He starts towards the door. Michelle shakes her head, smirking again.

“You might wanna put some pants on first,” she reminds him.

Peter’s ears go very red again. 

“Yep, you’re right. I totally should,” he says, scrambling through his backpack.

Michelle shakes her head at him again, walking down the alley towards the busy street at its end. She steps around the corner and then pauses there, hesitating, hating herself a little bit as she gives in to temptation.

She peeks around the corner, watching Peter pull a pair of jeans up bare, toned thighs.

“Oh my god, girl, you are _not_ that desperate yet,” she mutters to herself as she spins on her heel and quickly walks away, feeling heat prickling her cheeks, knowing that despite what she told Peter she’s probably not going to forget this anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite everything that she was telling herself to the contrary, Michelle was beginning to wonder if she  _ was _ in fact that desperate.

Maybe desperate was the wrong choice of words. Annoyed into attraction. Blinded by horniness. Whatever the case was, the shame came just as easily as she did later that afternoon after drowning her sorrows in episode after episode of Great British Bake Off, taking out her favorite vibrator and relieving some of the tension that she'd been holding from a long week of late night closings, early morning shifts, failed auditions and having to see Peter Parker's dumb face everywhere.

Yet it was exactly Peter's face that rushed to her mind in her room, the lean torso and a stunning display of abs that brought her to a finish more quickly than Tessa Thompson's biceps ever did.

_ What the fuck? _ Michelle thought as she panted, turning the vibrator off and staring up at the ceiling in shock - reeling not just from the best orgasm that she'd had in weeks but at the knowledge that thinking of  _ Peter _ had been the cause of it.

Michelle immediately feels mortified as if he was right there in the room with her, as if he would  _ know _ \- shaking her head a few times as her heart racing in her chest.

_ Pull yourself together, Jones _ , Michelle thinks before sitting up - telling herself that this was just a one-time deal, a moment of weakness considering how long it had been since she'd had a satisfying partner.

Yet that thought isn't enough to save her from the embarrassment she feels when she sees Peter again that evening, walking in right behind Ned as she ate some leftover pasta that Gwen had made the night before.

Michelle frowns just as she shoves a noodle in her mouth, Ned cheerfully waving to her and Peter looking smug as he looks at her up and down and says, "Hey Michelle. Are those  _ Hello Kitty _ pajamas?"

Michelle quickly chews her food then swallows the pasta down, frowning even more as she says, "What are you doing here?"

"Beast Slayer night, remember?" Ned responds, glancing between the two of them before looking around. "Is Gwen home yet?"

"Not yet," Michelle says before wiping her mouth with her napkin, Peter still looking at her with a mix of amusement and something that some part of her could only describe as  _ interest _ as she nods towards the couch. "Help yourself."

She tacitly ignores Peter as Ned makes his way to the couch, no doubt going to set up the Beast Slayer game night that Michelle had completely forgotten about despite the fact that Gwen had been excited about it for weeks.

Michelle didn't really understand video games but she supported Gwen in her nerdy love for them and her nerdy love for Ned, even if it came at the expense of being constantly surrounded by Peter.

Peter doesn't move to the couch but towards her instead, Michelle focusing on her pasta as he sidles up next to her on the bar.

He's clearly waiting for her to look at him but Michelle's practiced in years of avoiding people when she wants to, taking a bite of her pasta and staring off into nothing without a care in the world. Her job record may not support it but Michelle knows she's a damn good actress. She wasn't about to let someone as annoying as  _ Peter Parker _ throw her off her game.

Yet it's the memory of how  _ on _ her game Peter Parker had made her feel earlier that suddenly makes her stomach twist into knots - of embarrassment she's sure - almost choking on her pasta when Peter says, "So about this afternoon..."

"What?" she squawks out, having an honest moment of terror that he somehow  _ knew _ flooding through her only for Peter to clear his throat, Michelle finally looking over to him and seeing the sheepish smile on his face as he says, "I wasn't hooking up with Mario."

"I don't care," is the response that Michelle immediately gives, desperate to finish her pasta and get as far away from Peter as physically possible - the heat radiating off his body doing nothing for the knots that are twisting up in her stomach and the prickle she feels in the back of her neck at wondering what it would be like to have him pressed against her.

_ Stop that _ , she chides herself just as Peter says, "I know you don't. You've made that abundantly clear."

Michelle spares a glance to him to see his face transformed into an unreadable expression, scratching the back of his neck as he continues, "But I just wanted to make that clear. I wasn't hooking up with Mario."

"Okay," Michelle says carefully, confusion now flooding through her at his insistence at this, "Good for you."

Peter goes to say something more only for Ned to call him over, turning back to him as Michelle quickly turns her attention back to her pasta.

"Um, I'm gonna..."

"Okay," Michelle replies, Peter just sighing. He stands there for a beat, everything in Michelle wanting to look over at him and ask him what the hell his problem was but not trusting herself to do so without blurting out anything that she would regret. Ned beats her to the punch, calling him over once more when Peter gives up whatever it is that he was going to tell her.

The curious part of Michelle immediately wants to know what it is is but the rational part of her starts to kick in - telling her all the things that she told herself this afternoon.

There was nothing remarkable about Peter and she was  _ not _ actually attracted to him. Did the fact that he looked like a model underneath all those clothes make her think twice about how he was able to have so many attractive people around him? Sure, but Michelle was too smart too be fooled.

Her friends may still hold on to the idea that Peter wasn't that bad of a guy but Michelle tried to remind herself that she knew better.

Tried being the operative word, as she sighs into her pasta bowl,  _ feeling _ Peter still staring at her. 

* * *

"MJ?"

"Hmm?" Michelle grumbles, hearing Gwen's soft knocking again and then her quiet swear.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't know you were already asleep," Gwen says, Michelle lifting her head up and looking over to where Gwen was standing - door half-open and looking apologetic as Michelle takes stock of where she was.

She'd finished her dinner as quick as she physically was capable of without burning her tongue before making a hasty exit to her bedroom, Great British Bake Off paused in that annoying 'are you still watching?' menu on her laptop as she sits up.

"It's fine, I need to do my night routine," she says, rubbing some of the sleep out of her eye as Gwen takes that as invitation to step inside - quietly closing the door behind her as Michelle asks, "Is the tournament over?"

Gwen shakes her head, sitting down on Michelle's bed with one leg curled underneath her as she says, "No but you didn't come out when I came home so I just wanted to check on you. Have you heard anything new?"

Michelle makes a face, Gwen grimacing before putting on her most dazzling smile that if she didn't know any better, would think is fake for how blinding it is as she says, "That's okay. You'll get them next time."

Normally, Michelle would try and accept the vote of confidence for what it is - a certainty from her best friend who she trusts more than anything. But the weight of the past few weeks is starting to take its toll, only barely having enough energy to muster up a smile as she says, “Thanks, Gwendy, I know.” 

Gwen smiles back, Michelle noticing that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes - a sure a sign as any that she doesn’t believe Michelle anymore than she believes herself. 

* * *

The near relentless schedule set before continues to weigh on her for the next week, enough that it causes her to be distracted enough to completely miss the frothing machine when she's pouring milk.

"Fuck," Michelle curses, only to send an apologetic glance to the group of high schoolers who look completely smug and amused in the way that only high schoolers can be as she quickly grabs a towel. "Sorry, your drink will be right out."

"It's fine," one of the high schooler says dreamily, Michelle not necessarily surprised since her worst customers were rarely teenagers but the moms who raised them but taken aback by the dreamy tinge that their voice takes until she looks up. "We can wait."

Michelle's hand stings from the milk but she still feels a heat billowing out in her chest and her gut when she follows the distracted high schooler's line of sight only to see Peter reaching up at the counter.

His shirt's a little too tight, something that she had  _ not _ noticed until this moment thank you very much, but it's clear what this group of hormonal high schoolers are distracted by as he leans forward and reaches for some special blend of beans that Harry had bought - the shape of muscles and the way his biceps flexed as he does so making Michelle's cheeks feel hot less from the slight burn on her hand and everything from what imagining what those arms would feel like wrapped around her.

Michelle's flustered but manages to keep it together as she mutters under her breath, "Sure you can." She moves as far away from the bar as she can as she makes her way over to where there's another sink.

She can hear the group of high schoolers giggling as Peter comes up and seemingly finishes the rest of the order, Michelle taking her time to run cool water underneath the faucet before wiping her hands and turning back only to nearly run into Peter standing right in front of her.

"You okay there?" He asks, his stupid face and his stupid smirk just inches away from her as Michelle's surprise turns into a scowl.

"Fine," she answers before moving past him, Peter putting his hands up as she takes one of the iced drinks and grabs the syrup that's messily scrawled over the label.

"You don't  _ look _ fine. You're off your game, Michelle," Peter says teasingly, yet it's the exact wrong words for him to say - picking at the very thing that's been bothering her for the past week and a half as she fumes.

"No one asked you, Parker," Michelle snaps back, the high schoolers standing there like a peanut gallery as they went  _ oooh.  _ A secret part of Michelle relished the audience only to feel a slight tinge of despair at the idea that hormonal high schoolers might  _ be _ the only audience she'll ever have as Peter snorts.

"What? You can dish it but you can't take it? Face it, Jones," Peter says with no small amount of snark, moving so that he's right beside her as she glares at him. He motions for the drink she has in her hand, milk in hand as she forcibly passes the half-finished drink to him, "You're all talk."

"At least I have something worth saying," Michelle says, effectively ending the conversation when she turns away from him and walks back to the check out to take the orders of the line that inadvertently formed while she was cleaning herself off.

The next hour and a half of their shift pass by like this - working in silence save for small, catty remarks that just further irritate her. Michelle almost,  _ almost _ , wishes that today had been the one time that Peter had flaked. The rush wasn't nearly as bad in the lulls of the afternoon and the tension skyrockets between the two of them until the night shift finally comes in, Michelle fuming as her and Peter finish the shift change and take off their aprons in the back rooms.

Michelle doesn't necessarily consider herself a patient person but she'd like to think she has a better handle on her emotions than this, especially when Peter seems to intentionally take his sweet time to finish clocking out - enough that Michelle can't help the exasperated sigh that comes out of her mouth.

"What is your problem?" Peter finally snaps, swiping his key card and looking back at her. He looks just as frustrated as she does and if Michelle didn't know any better, it looks as if he has a bruise across his cheek. Michelle attributes it to the bad fluorescent lighting that never does anyone any favors as she moves to swipe her own key card.

"My problem is that some of us have places to be, Parker. Not everyone likes working around your own schedule," she says as she swipes, not missing the derisive laugh that Peter gives as she whips her hair around.

"That's rich coming from  _ you _ ," he says, her annoyance with him growing by the second as he says, "You're the one who leaves literally whenever in a shift because of some  _ amazing _ audition that you can't miss."

Michelle can't help the shocked laugh that comes out of her, making a face as she furiously shakes her head and asks, "Are you  _ really _ going to use that excuse with me?  _ Really _ ? You can't even be bothered to show up for half the shifts you're signed up for and the ones you do, you still flake out at the last minute for God knows what. How the hell do you even make rent?"

"How do  _ you _ ? It’s not like your auditions ever lead to jobs,” Peter bounces back, Michelle suddenly feeling cold for how dismissive his words are - only for Peter himself to realize that he's crossed a line too far. Gwen paying for the bills of the apartment - or really Gwen's dad - has been a continued sore spot for Michelle to think about, not that Peter would know the full extent of her feelings about that. She's never even spoken that to Gwen but in the last few weeks of failed audition after failed audition, it was especially starting to weigh on her.

It didn't help matters that anytime she checked social media, she saw another post of a friend from college getting the role of a lifetime in LA or of the line of callbacks that some of her friends on Broadway were all running through for the hottest play. Success wasn't guaranteed in the industry but Michelle had hoped that by  _ now _ , three years after graduation, she'd have a little more to show for it than a few bit parts in commercials and stage productions that weren't anything to write home about.

She'd dyed her hair  _ red _ to set her apart from the crowd yet here she was - washed up at twenty-five - spending her days arguing with a good-for-nothing flake who actually  _ had a point. _

But before he gets the chance to make amends, Michelle lets out a frustrated sigh and says, "you think I like wasting my time at this shitty job and with these shitty auditions all for nothing? I’m working my ass off, Parker. Not that you care.”

She unties her apron in a huff before saying, "Maybe I should see if Gwen knows of any openings at Oscorp."

She sighs again, her shoulders sagging at the weight of actually saying the words out loud - especially when the thought had been rattling around in the back of her brain for the better part of a week.

It's so uncharacteristically vulnerable for her to admit to anyone, much less Peter. But there's something safer in sharing this with Peter, annoying as he is, compared to Gwen or Harry or even Ned.

Gwen loved her like a sister, blunt and the kind of tough love that Michelle appreciates more than anything else in the world. But Gwen was also the kind of person to have a perennial sort of optimism, Michelle knowing that while Gwen would support her in whatever she decided to do, there was an undeniable part of her that absolutely hinged her own unfulfilled dreams on Michelle - encouragement and the expectation that she would "make it".

It was a good kind of pressure, one that Michelle's not wholly convinced she hasn't just placed on herself. Regardless, Michelle knows that if she were to confess this to Gwen or anyone else, they'd try to convince her not to give up.

She doesn't expect Peter of all people to be one of them, snapping her eyes back up to him when he says, "Wait, don't do that."

Michelle frowns, one of her eyebrows raising as she stares at him in confusion. "Why not? You said it yourself, it's not like I'm pulling my weight. You might be fine with living like a mooch off of everyone around you, but I'm not."

She shakes her head, wringing her apron in her hands and hating the words that are coming out of her mouth as she says, "Maybe it's time I finally called it."

"I mean it, Michelle. Don't give up. I'm sorry, I’m an asshole. I shouldn't have said that," Peter says, looking sheepish as Michelle just stares at him.

She's exhausted from a frustrating day of work and from the weight of the anxiety of thinking she'd wasted the better part of the last decade only to be taken aback by Peter's expression softening as he asks, "Have I ever told you about my uncle?"

The more sarcastic part of Michelle immediately wants to respond that they really haven't told each other much of anything but she holds back - not just because she's a better person than that but because of the look in Peter's eyes.

"No," she says instead, Peter nodding before running a hand through his hair, a tic she's observed that he does when he's nervous.

"My uncle he uh, he practically raised me. My mom and dad died when I was really little, I don't really remember them but my uncle Ben... he was always there for me," Peter begins, bringing his hand down before continuing.

"He was really into photography. Like  _ really _ into photography," Peter says with a laugh, staring off to the side. Michelle can't ever remember Gwen or Harry or Ned ever mentioning an uncle, only his aunt May, causing her stomach to twist into knots at the idea that she'd so casually dismissed him as not ever having gone through anything when not only have his his parents died, but his uncle must have too.

"He always used to tell me that creating art was like creating life, you know? Like, it's the one thing that really makes us feel us feel human. It connects us," he says, his gaze shifting back to Michelle.

"I know that's really cheesy—"

"It's not," Michelle's quick to say, only for Peter to give her a look as she amends, "Okay it is, but I get it."

He laughs, relieving some of the tension in the room as she says, "Art is what helps us feel like life's worth living."

"Yeah," Peter says, nodding his head furiously, "yeah exactly. I used to be really into it too, with him back in junior high." The expression on his face grows cloudy, Michelle putting two and two together that the death of his uncle must have been the death of his photography career.

He all but confirms it when he says, "I stopped in high school. Life kinda got away from me," he says with a wry smile, looking away before surprising Michelle with the intensity in his eyes as he says, "but you shouldn’t let it. You can do this, Michelle. I know you can. Don't let assholes get you down."

He smiles and then he winks, something that does things she'd rather not think about to her insides as he says, "Even me."

Michelle rolls her eyes but there's a playfulness to it that she hadn't felt before, smirking as she surprises herself when she says, "MJ."

Peter's eyebrows raise, pursing his lips as he says, "I thought only your friends got to call you MJ. Are we friends now?"

"Don't push it," Michelle says, folding her apron under arm and reaching her phone. "I figure it's the least I can do since you just spilled out your traumatic life story all to motivate me not to quit. I’ll be sure to thank you when I book my next toothpaste commercial.”

Peter laughs, Michelle smiling despite herself before she turns a little more serious and says, "Thanks. For telling me."

Peter nods once, having the audacity to wink again before he says, "No problem, MJ."

Michelle sighs, Peter's grin growing wider as she asks, "Am I going to live to regret that?"

Peter just shrugs, his eyes lighting up as he says, "I hope not."


	4. Chapter 4

Michelle stares down at the greasy slice of pizza on her plate, feeling her stomach churn with a combination of anxious nausea and excitement. The biggest audition of her life is coming up in a little under an hour, a lead role in a play written and directed by a hotshot rising star in the theater world. It’s a struggle not to let nerves get the best of her. She feels like her future is balanced on the edge of a knife.

And yet Ned seems even more nervous than her, Michelle has noticed as she peers across the table at him. He’s barely touched his own slice, his head bent over his phone and his forehead furrowed with worry. Every now and then he’ll type something in a flurry of tapping thumbs, chewing his lower lip.

“Is everything okay?” Michelle finally asks.

Ned’s head jerks up away from his phone’s screen, an apologetic expression coming over his face.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah—everything’s cool,” he quickly replies, flashing her a weak smile. “Just checking in with Peter.”

Michelle frowns. Ned is nearly as bad a liar as his best friend. “Is  _ he  _ okay?”

Ned’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise at that question, and then his smile shifts into a smirk. “Why do you care? I thought you hated Peter.”

Michelle feels heat spread across her cheeks. She looks down at her pizza, picking at the waxy cheese. She shrugs.

“I don’t  _ hate  _ him,” she admits, trying to sound nonchalant. “He’s...alright. I mean, don’t get me wrong—he’s the  _ worst _ coworker I’ve ever had and Harry should absolutely fire him, but...maybe he’s not so bad, you know—as a person.”

Ned’s smirk gets bigger. “Wow, that was so big of you. That took a lot of courage to say.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, smiling as she balls up a napkin and throws it at him. “Shut up, Leeds. I said he’s okay.  _ Maybe.  _ That’s all.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna  _ gloat  _ about this. I kept saying you guys would get along if you’d just—“

Ned’s phone vibrates again, cutting him off. He looks down at the screen, the furrow reappearing between his brows as he quickly types a response.

Michelle sits back, sighing as she picks up her bag. “Okay, it’s obvious you’re busy fixing some crisis with your idiot friend, and I gotta run anyway so I’m not late to my audition.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Ned says distractedly, still furiously texting.

Michelle rolls her eyes again as she gets up to leave. She may have warmed up to Peter  _ slightly,  _ but she’ll never understand in a million years why his friends are so fervently devoted to him.

She does her warm up exercises as she briskly walks down the busy street towards the building where her audition is being held a few blocks away. She’s so wrapped up in her head and the anxious bundle of nerves still churning in her stomach that she doesn’t notice when people start running past her going in the opposite direction. It’s not until a woman runs smack into her, knocking them both to the ground, that she snaps back into her surroundings.

“What the  _ fuck!  _ Watch it,” Michelle hisses at the woman as she struggles to sit up, already feeling a bruise forming on her ass.

The woman doesn’t reply, her face white with terror as she scrambles to her feet and takes off running. 

Michelle blinks after her, her heart rate ticking up as she suddenly notices the growing chaos around her. People are running around or cowering behind parked cars, their phones glued to their ears. In the distance, the wail of sirens draws nearer.

Michelle has to wonder a little about her priorities, because her very first thought is  _ oh no, I’m gonna be late to my audition. _

But she doesn’t have long to ponder upon that thought, because she finds herself abruptly eclipsed in shadow. She looks up, feeling her heart stutter in pure animal terror as she watches a bus soar through the air towards her.

Michelle swears time slows down to an excruciating snail’s crawl, even though she knows all of this is happening in a matter of seconds. She scrambles sideways, ducking into the entryway of a building right as the bus slams into the ground exactly where she’d been a moment before, metal spraying sparks everywhere as it smashes into the asphalt.

“What the  _ fuck!”  _ Michelle says again, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest as she clutches the wall for support.

A beat later, Spider-Man lands on top of the bus, looking like he’s been through hell and back. His suit is slashed in wide stripes across his chest, revealing long bleeding gashes. His head swivels around, the lenses of his mask going wide when he spots Michelle still cowering in the doorway.

“Hey! Hey—you alright?” he asks, vaulting off the bus and racing over to Michelle.

“Yeah,” Michelle breathlessly replies, shakily straightening up.

“Great, glad to hear it. Really woulda ruined my day if you weren’t,” Spider-Man says shortly, before grabbing Michelle around the waist and pulling her close.

She presses her hands against his chest and leans away from him, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you outta here.”

“What? Wait—no, I have an audition,” Michelle says, struggling against his hold.

Spider-Man lets out a bark of incredulous laughter. “Lady, are you crazy? You stick around here and the next role you’ll be auditioning for is corpse in a casket.”

Michelle isn’t listening. “No, seriously, I can’t miss—“

The rest of her sentence turns into a terrified wail as Spider-Man fires a web at the building across the street and swings them up into the air.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” she breathes, clinging to him, her hair blowing around her face as they sail up and up and up. 

She screams again as they reach the height of their arc and start to drop, her stomach plummeting into her feet. It feels like Spider-Man catches them on another web at the very last second before they smash into the ground, but then they’re soaring upwards again while Michelle lets out a string of expletives into Spider-Man’s ear, her face pressed against his. He’s laughing, she realizes through her terror and adrenaline, and if she were physically able to pry her hands away from where they desperately clutch at him, she’d punch him for being an asshole.

He must have some awareness of her angry fear, though, because he tightens his grip around her waist.

“Relax, Red. I got you,” he assures her. “I won’t let you fall.”

Michelle can’t reply, her heart jumping out of her feet and into her throat now. She wraps her arms even tighter around his neck and squeezes her eyes shut, until they finally come to a stop on a quiet street.

Michelle immediately lets him go, stumbling back a few steps and then clenching her hands into fists. “What the hell? You can’t just...just snatch people up and swing off with them like that!”

“Uh, I’m Spider-Man—rescuing people is kinda what I do,” Spider-Man replies, sounding amused. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t  _ need _ rescuing. My audition—“

Spider-Man laughs again, shaking his head. “Jeez, you  _ really _ go hard when you want something, huh? Do me a favor—if you ever get like, superpowers from a lab accident or a magic alien rock or something, don’t use your powers for evil. I don’t think I could keep up with you.”

He shifts his weight on his feet, and then adds, more gently, “Hey, look—I’m sorry about your audition. I’m sure it meant a lot to you.”

Michelle just crosses her arms over her chest, letting out a huff of air. She knows none of this is actually Spider-Man’s fault, but she feels suddenly close to tears, overwhelmed with the sense that fate or happenstance or whatever keeps ripping her dreams out of her hands.

Spider-Man clears his throat. 

“Anyway...” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction they came from, “there’s a giant lizard-man terrorizing the city, so I gotta run. Try and stay outta the way,  _ please.” _

He swings away again before Michelle can say anything else. She watches him for a moment until he disappears from sight, feeling her mood sinking lower.

_ Sometimes I hate this city, _ she thinks as she turns and starts walking home.

* * *

“—and then Spider-Man just grabs me, without my permission, and starts swinging away with me. Like? What the hell? It’s  _ ridiculous _ that we just let these vigilantes do whatever they please. What if he’d dropped me and I’d been hurt? How do you sue a guy in a mask with a secret identity?” Michelle rants later, washing out milk pitchers in the rear kitchen of the Coffee Bean.

“Are you kidding? That’s so badass,” Mario says, leaning against the counter.

Michelle shoots a glare at him. “I thought I told you to go refill the napkins.”

“My bad, on it,” Mario says contritely, hurrying to do what she says.

“Not that you care about my opinion, but I gotta agree with Mario,” Peter says from where he squats on the floor, fiddling with the oven that had decided to stop working right in the middle of the morning rush. “It sucks you missed your audition, yeah, but I’d think you could like, I dunno...show an ounce of gratitude for the fact that he saved your life.”

“He  _ didn’t  _ save my life,” Michelle corrects, furiously scrubbing at a pitcher. “He showed up  _ after  _ that lizard-thing threw a bus at me. I was fine.”

“Yeah, I bet you were,” Peter says dryly, standing up and pulling the oven away from the wall so he can get to its components in the back. 

“He’s just trying to help people. Cut him some slack. He’s out there like, killing himself to protect the city, and he doesn’t even get paid. I know you’re mad about your audition, but think about Spider-Man—that guy puts his whole life on hold for the superhero thing,” he continues, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he does something to the oven with a screwdriver. 

Michelle looks over at him, smirking. “Why are you defending him so hard? You got a crush on him or something?”

Peter drops the screwdriver to the floor with a clatter. He bends awkwardly in the tight space behind the oven to pick it up, and then looks up at Michelle, meeting her eyes boldly. A smirk turns up his own mouth.

“Yeah, you know what? Maybe I do. You don’t ever think about what it would be like to get it on with a superhero?” he asks, winking at her.

Michelle snorts, throwing a dish towel at him. “Shut up. I don’t wanna know anything about your weird sexual fantasies.”

“Just tell me one thing—did his ass look as good in that suit up close as it does on TV?”

“Oh my god,” Michelle says, smiling and shaking her head. “Honestly, I had my eyes closed almost the whole time, so I didn’t really notice.”

“You’re  _ wishing _ you had though, don’t deny it.”

Peter grins at her, replacing a panel on the oven and shuffling back around to the front of it. He turns the oven on, his expression smug. “Voila. Good as new.”

Michelle leans over to peer at the red coils heating up inside the oven. “Wow, Parker, maybe you’re not as useless as I thought. You have some hidden talents.”

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, wiping his hands on the dish towel Michelle had thrown at him.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a lot more tricks up my sleeve than just that,” he says with a smile, his eyes warm as they meet Michelle’s.

Michelle feels her stomach do a funny little flip, heat spreading across her cheeks. She purses her lips, going back to scrubbing pitchers. 

“Too bad none of them include being on time for work,” she says dryly.

Peter shrugs as he heads towards the kitchen door. “Hey, no one’s perfect, right? You do the best you can with what you got.”

“Right,” Michelle mutters, scrubbing harder.

Alone in the kitchen now, she immediately finds herself thinking about Peter, unbidden—the way he’d just looked at her, brown eyes soft and warm, the pretty way he blushes when he’s embarrassed...she wonders how he’d look lying stretched out in her bed underneath her…

She stops scrubbing, bracing her hands on the sides of the sink and sighing. 

“Don’t even  _ think _ about it, Jones,” she firmly tells herself, turning the faucet on.

She thinks about it, anyway.

* * *

  
  


The next few weeks aren't necessarily any  _ better _ for Michelle but they're a little more tolerable.

Citing Spider-Man problems for missing her audition went about as well as she had expected. The only thing that worked in her favor was the actual city wide news coverage of the event but that didn’t seem matter - Michelle putting in her all for the rescheduled audition only to get the distinct impression that they had already decided against her. 

But Michelle didn’t care, doing her best then wiping her hands of it as she left - more determined than ever to make something of herself. 

She takes that same vigor in asking for more shifts from Harry, something that he seems reluctant to do so even if she knows rationally that he must clearly need.

"You really don't have to work extra hours, MJ. I can find—"

"What? Some other newbie to close you out three nights in a row?" She says, nudging him out of the way as they settle on the couch of their apartment - Gwen getting ready for a date with Ned as she flits in and out of her bedroom and the bathroom.

"Face it, Har. You need me and  _ I _ need the money," Michelle says, settling down beside him with her bowl of popcorn in hand.

"Yeah but I could just  _ give _ you the money," he says with a grin, Michelle rolling her eyes as she puts the popcorn bowl between them.

Michelle doesn't justify his words with a response, glad that Harry knew her well enough not to push the issue. As apologetic as Peter had been a few weeks ago, it  _ did _ bother Michelle that both Harry and Gwen took such great lengths to care for her. Enough that it motivated her to contribute a little more in putting money towards her savings, not necessarily to move out anytime in the near future - she loved living with Gwen and she wasn't so proud that she was stupid enough to give up such a great deal on rent - but to make more of an active effort in earning her way through the world.

A distant part of her whispers that that isn't how friendship and love works but Michelle dismisses that just as she dismisses those same whispers that echo in the back of her mind of how much she's been thinking of Peter Parker.

And she has. Been thinking of Peter Parker. More than she’s ever wanted to. 

Unlike the years that she's known him, or more accurately actively tried to  _ not _ know him, that moment in the backroom of the Coffee Bean had unlocked something between the two of them - their usual banter not necessarily lessening but being more good natured than not.

It's enough that on her third night shift of the week, Peter actually taking the night shift with her as the close out the shop, she notices that something's off about him.

Any jokes that she had passed off to him throughout the night had been met with either half-hearted responses or none at all, Michelle doing a double take when she saw him limp towards the back to get more napkins.

He looks as exhausted as she feels after three nights of working the night shift but it surprises her that Peter isn't bouncing back from it with his usually annoying but now sorely missed optimism. Michelle hadn't realized just how much she relied on his energy to keep her going - the night feeling like it dragged on endlessly before finally it was time to close, clearing out the store and the floor in a comfortable silence.

Michelle's running through some lines in her head for an audition she has this weekend - a part for a soap commercial that the Michelle a month ago wouldn't have gone for - as she washes her hands in the back when Peter walks in.

"Front's cleaned, locked and ready to go," he says with a sigh, Michelle turning over her shoulder to look at him as he yawns.

"Rough night?" she asks with a smile, turning off the water and grabbing the clean dishrag next to the sink as he smirks, folding his arms and leaning against the sink.

"Felt like it was never gonna end," Peter says tiredly, Michelle seeing the tiredness in his eyes right before he pinches the bridge of his nose, wiping that same hand down over his face as he says, "I didn't think it was gonna be so slow."

"Always is, especially on week days. I'm surprised you took a closing shift," she says, unashamedly curious since in all the years that she's worked at the Coffee Bean, Peter's never been assigned a night shift with her - much less actually showed up to one two nights in a row.

"Needed a night off," he says, Michelle frowning as Peter freezes.

"A night off? From what?" she asks, amused and now more than a little curious for how panicked Peter suddenly looks as he stands up a little straighter.

When he doesn't immediately offer some kind of explanation, Michelle literally  _ seeing _ the gears behind his eyes work in overtime but failing miserably because of how tired he must be, she decides to have a little mercy on him as she offers, "Are you in like a Fight Club or something?"

"Huh?" Peter asks, still looking a mix of bewildered, panicked and shocked as she smirks.

"It's either that," Michelle says, her words snapping Peter out of whatever daze he's in as he frowns, only for his eyes to bug out when she says, "or you’re an escort."

"A  _ what _ ?" Peter squawks out, Michelle's smirk turning into a grin as Peter babbles. "Why would— I mean where—"

"You clearly work out," Michelle says, gesturing vaguely towards him, "so that ruled out drugs. You seem too straight laced to be in a gang. You always look like you're a second away from falling over any given moment and I'm sixty seven percent sure I've seen you with bruises in a lot of weird places, so," Michelle shrugs, Peter just staring at her in amusement as she says, "Fight Club or escort."

Peter huffs out a laugh, folding his arms again as he leans away from the sink and asks, "Are those really my only two options?'

Michelle shrugs again, the way Peter's eyes light up as she smiles on him doing incredible things for her self-esteem as she says, "You got a better theory?"

Peter purses his lips, mockingly putting a hand to his chin in a teasing motion as Michelle laughs, only for her stomach to do a flip as he says, "Actually I do. I think... you're obsessed with me."

" _ What? _ " she exclaims with a laugh, rolling her eyes as she throws the dishrag away and walks to the back to clock out. "Keep dreaming, Parker."

"I don't know, MJ," Peter says, the way he says her name causing her heartbeat to skip a beat, "Keeping track of my schedule, theories on what I do when I'm not here, noticing I have bruises everywhere…”

Michelle can feel his stare as she continues to walk towards the machine, a heat building in the pit of her stomach as she feels him walk a little faster behind her until he's right next to her.

She glances to him, just to see that same stupid smirk that's been living rent free in her mind for weeks now as he says, "What would you call that?"

"I'm not obsessed with you, I'm  _ observant _ ," Michelle flirts back, of which she's unabashedly doing. Chalk it up to the countless day dreams of Peter Parker's abs and the way he's looking at her but Michelle's feeling a little more reckless than she has in weeks.

Her recklessness pays off when Peter flirts right back, taking a step towards her as he says, "What else have you  _ observed  _ then?"

Michelle's heart starts hammering in her chest, so loud that she's almost positive that he could hear it for how his eyes light up as he stares at her - the grin on his face growing wider as she says, "I don't know, Parker. You seem kind of sensitive. I'm not sure you can handle it."

"I'm a lot stronger than I look," he says with a grin, a tingle running down her spine at the realization of how close he is to her. She doesn't miss the way his eyes dart down to her lips then back to her eyes, Michelle feeling a little breathless as she says, "Oh really?"

"Yeah," Peter says, his own breath sounding short as he says. "You'd be surprised."

"I doubt that," Michelle answers back, inhaling sharply only to take a leap - rushing forward just as Peter does the same.

There's no logical thought or rational line of thinking to explain how and why she's kissing Peter Parker except an insatiable desire to find out if her fantasies could live up to the reality.

Michelle's finding that it is absolutely better, Peter immediately pressing himself against her as those same arms that she'd spent an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about bring her closer to him - Michelle inhaling sharply as her own arms wrap around his neck.

It's intoxicating, enough that Michelle genuinely forgets who and where she is as Peter's tongue brushes against her lips before slipping into her mouth - the soft moan she gives off when he does only encourages him further as she pulls herself even closer to him.

She finds herself walking backwards out of her own accord until she's pressed against the wall, letting out a huff only for Peter's mouth to move from her lips to her neck - Michelle gasping as his hips softly grind against her as he sucks.

His hands are ghosting over her everywhere as she does the same, any thoughts beyond  _ closer _ and  _ more _ being something her brain is incapable of processing. Peter for his part seems to be on the same track, the hand that wasn't currently massaging her breast reaching down to grab at her ass. Michelle returns the favor, grinding herself against him as she runs her hands appreciatively against the muscles of his back - Peter groaning as he kisses her again.

There's a brief moment where Michelle thinks that they might actually be going somewhere with this - right here, right now, in the backroom of the Coffee Bean - finding that she's really struggling with coming up with a reason why they shouldn't, when his phone goes off.

"Ignore it," she says into his mouth, Peter groaning as she sucks on his bottom lip - only to pull away when it starts to somehow get even louder, panting heavily as he says, "Sorry, sorry. I gotta—"

Michelle's a little too out of breath to argue though there's an immediate loss when Peter takes a step away from her, cool air blowing between them and cooling herself down immediately as he grabs his cell phone out of his pocket.

His lips are swollen and his cheeks flushed but he's still able to pull himself together quick enough as he answers, "Hello?"

Michelle can't hear who it is on the other line but it must be serious for the way his facial expression changes, leaning off the wall she'd just been pressed against as she takes a breath - Peter himself looking as if he was trying to calm down as he says, "Yeah, I'll be there."

He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, Michelle frowning and going to ask what's going on only to be cut off when Peter asks, "You're good to close out the rest right?"

There's not much else to close out considering Peter's done the bulk of the routine but Michelle just nods anyway, Peter nodding in return as he blows some air out of his mouth and runs a hand through his hair.

They stare at each other for a beat, Michelle wondering if he was starting to realize what they had just been doing just as she was until he gestures towards the back door.

"I gotta—"

"Go. I'll uh, see you tomorrow," Michelle says, inwardly wincing at how awkward she feels. Peter's either too preoccupied with whatever emergency he clearly has to rush off to is just as disoriented as she feels as he replies, "Yeah, yeah for sure. See you."

He stares at her for another beat, looking conflicted for a half-beat before walking towards the back door without another word - Michelle wondering for the second time in as many minutes how and why he never said goodbye.

It's only when he leaves that Michelle feels like she can breathe, letting out a deep exhale as she tries to wrap her head around what the hell had just happened.

Michelle had zero plans on stopping what they were doing and from the looks of it, neither had Peter - the logical part of her brain being glad that whoever had called Peter when they did had saved the two of them from having sex in the back of the Coffee Bean even if the dumber, much hornier part of her deeply resented it.

She's beyond trying to rationalize or dissuade herself from thinking about Peter now as she swipes her card to clock out on autopilot - knowing  _ exactly _ what it feels like now to have Peter pressed up against her, how his hands feel as they travel down the length of her body and how his tongue in her mouth made her wonder how his tongue would feel elsewhere.

The heat that had been building between the two of them comes back in a rush, Michelle forcing herself back in the present and not in the very recent past.

_ Get it together, Jones _ , she says to herself as she walks over to the employee lockers for her purse - knowing that the chances of her being able to think about anything else but Peter for the rest of the night were slim to none.

* * *

“Hey, Michelle, can you grab me some more almond milk?” Mario asks, balancing a to-go tray full of coffees on each hand, already looking frazzled as the coffee shop rapidly fills with the morning crowd.

“Sure,” Michelle says, collecting an armful of dirty mugs from a table and heading towards the back kitchen. She pushes the swinging door open with her hip, and nearly runs straight into Peter again.

“Whoa! Slow down,” he says with a smile, reaching out to steady her with his hands on her upper arms.

His palms are warm against her bare skin, and Michelle feels a little thrill run down her spine, the memory of their kiss making her feel flushed and unsteady.

“Stop getting in my way,” she retorts, smiling back at him as she steps around him and carries the cups to the sink. Her skin still feels warm where his hands had been. She’s so distracted by it that she nearly drops the cups again as she sets them down inside the sink.

_ God, Jones, this is embarrassing,  _ she thinks as she turns the faucet on and starts rinsing the cups. 

“You’re actually here on time for once,” she remarks to Peter as she puts the cups in the dishwasher. “Who do we thank for this miracle?”

“Thank yourself,” Peter says, shooting her a cheeky grin as he ties his apron on. “I was looking forward to seeing you again after what happened the last time you and I worked a shift together.”

“Oh my god,” Michelle groans, but she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. 

“That bad?” Peter asks, still grinning.

_ “So _ much cheese.”

“Hey, I like cheese. Cheese is great,” Peter says with a shrug, walking over to stand right beside her at the sink. 

He reaches into the basin and starts helping her rinse the cups. Michelle finds herself staring at his hands, remembering the way they’d felt roaming her body. His knuckles are bruised and scuffed like a boxer’s, which spikes her curiosity a little, but otherwise he has nice hands, with long slim fingers and neat short nails. Michelle tells herself that she’s appreciating them as an artist would, but she can’t lie to herself about the fact that her mouth has suddenly gone bone dry and her face feels hot again. 

Mario comes to her rescue, poking his head through the door and looking a little stressed.

“Michelle—almond milk?” he reminds her.

“Yep, bringing it out now,” Michelle says, spinning away from the sink. She grabs a carton of almond milk in each hand from the fridge and heads towards the door with them. She twists around to push it open with her hip again, and as she does she catches sight of Peter watching her with a look on his face that immediately sparks a bloom of heat deep down her belly.

She tears her eyes away from him, stepping through the door and letting it swing shut behind her, trying to ignore the tight throbbing ache between her legs.

_ Girl, you have  _ got  _ to get laid,  _ she thinks, equal parts frustrated and mortified with herself.

This thought simmers in the back of her mind the rest of the morning. She’s clumsy and distracted, messing up orders and dropping cups, spilling coffee and giving back the wrong change. She catches Harry watching her, his eyes concerned. She catches Peter watching her, too, something else entirely in his eyes as he looks at her, something that makes the back of her neck hot and her palms damp. 

She looks at him, too, casting surreptitious glances his way whenever she thinks no one will notice, drinking in the flex of his bare tanned biceps as he operates the espresso machine or pours tea, the sharp line of his jaw, the crooked smile he offers to customers. She admires the breadth of his shoulders and the taper of his torso into narrow hips, remembering with a crystalline clarity what he’d looked like under his clothes that day she’d caught him out by the dumpster, all that lithe, cut muscle on display for her.

She can’t deny it to herself any longer—she wants, very badly, to look at him like that again.

“Just a black coffee,” an exhausted looking transit employee tells her as he finally reaches the front of the line.

“Coming right up,” Michelle chirps, turning around to start fixing his order. She catches sight of Peter again as she does. He’s reaching up to get the cezve down from where it hangs by its handle from a hook in the wall. His t-shirt has come untucked in the back, riding up as he stretches and giving her a glimpse of his lower back, the band of his briefs peeking up above his pants.

The simmering thought in the back of Michelle’s mind boils over like milk in a saucepan left a second too long on the burner.

She hands a plain black coffee to the transit employee, and then she leaves Mario up front manning the counter as she heads back into the kitchen. She waits there for a few minutes, tapping her fingernails on the counter partly from impatience and partly from nerves. She has no plan at all but she’s never let that stop her from pursuing what she wants before.

Peter finally steps through the swinging door, a tower of dirty cups balanced in his hands.

Michelle turns around to face him. He smiles at her around the stack of cups as he walks over to the sink.

“Hey, taking a break? Mario’s starting to sweat out there,” he says as he lowers the cups carefully down into the sink.

“I’m gonna be really blunt,” Michelle says, cutting to the chase. “I want to fuck you, and I’m pretty sure you wanna fuck me, so I think we should just do it.”

Peter drops the stack of cups into the sink, wincing as they crash into the basin. He looks at her, wide-eyed, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

“I—whoa—you just—okay,” he stutters. “Okay, yeah. We can—absolutely.”

Michelle nods. “Okay. Are you free tonight?”

“Am I…? Tonight?” Peter echoes, still looking stunned. He takes a breath, nodding. “Yeah—yeah, I can be free.”

“Cool. Let’s say nine o’clock? My place. Bring condoms,” Michelle says, walking towards him on her way to the door. 

She pauses in front of him, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth, a little teaser of what’s to come. 

“Don’t be late,” she murmurs against his lips.

“I won’t,” he promises, and she’s hungry enough to believe him.


	5. Chapter 5

The boldness Michelle had felt when she’d made her proposition to Peter earlier has now worn off.

Michelle tries on another outfit, looking at herself in the mirror from various angles before tearing the clothes off and slipping back into the first dress she’d tried on. She’s not sure why she’s putting so much effort into picking out clothes when the plan is to remove them as quickly as possible once Peter arrives, but here she is anyway, frowning at herself in the mirror and adjusting her cleavage.

She decides this is probably as good as she’s going to get, throwing the discarded clothes into the back of her closet and shutting the door. Then she heads out to the kitchen, desperate for a drink to calm her nerves.

Gwen is already there, scrolling through her phone and sipping a glass of wine. She smiles at Michelle, her eyebrows raised as she looks her up and down. “Wow, you look nice. You got a date tonight?”

Michelle shrugs, helping herself to Gwen’s wine. “Nah, just having someone over to get my rocks off.”

Gwen snorts in amusement, but her expression is a little dubious as she looks Michelle up and down again. “They must be  _ really  _ hot, because you don’t usually put this much effort into your booty calls.”

“He  _ is _ really hot,” Michelle confirms. “And if he fucks even half as well as he kisses, all this effort will be worth it.”

“Wow,” Gwen says again, smiling. “Good for you. Where’d you meet this guy?”

“At work,” Michelle says vaguely, avoiding Gwen’s eyes. It’s not really a lie but she still feels a little guilty about it, given that Peter is one of Gwen’s closest friends. She’s not ready to open that can of worms yet, though.

“You look nice, too,” she adds, trying to change the subject. “Do  _ you _ have plans?”

“Yeah, thanks. Ned and I are gonna do dinner and a movie. We won’t be back till late so you’ll have all the privacy you need,” Gwen says with a coy smile.

“Awesome,” Michelle says, like she doesn’t already know Gwen and Ned have plans, like she hadn’t called Ned herself earlier that afternoon and suggested to him,  _ very emphatically,  _ that he should have a date night with Gwen tonight. It’s another little kinda-sorta lie, but Peter’s supposed to be here in twenty minutes and Michelle is all in at this point.

She takes another deep drink from Gwen’s wine glass while Gwen watches in amusement.

“You’re  _ sure  _ this is nothing more than a hookup?” Gwen asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous about having someone over before.”

Michelle makes a scoffing sound. “The only thing I’m nervous about is this ending up as disappointing as the Brad-or-David situation did.”

“Okay, sure,” Gwen says skeptically, getting up and collecting her purse from where it hangs next to the door. She winks at Michelle. “I’m gonna go wait for Ned downstairs. Best of luck getting your back blown out, babe.”

Michelle snorts, smirking as she raises the wine glass. “Cheers to that.”

Her relief at having the apartment—and Peter—alone to herself lasts approximately seven minutes, and then Michelle is a bundle of nerves again.

She doesn’t understand why—Gwen was right, Michelle has always been bold about taking what she wants from her various short-term sexual partners, and there is a  _ lot _ that she plans on getting from Peter tonight. And yet here she is, repeatedly checking her hair and makeup in any reflective surface in the apartment, like Peter Parker is someone who actually deserves the effort she’s putting into her appearance, like he’s someone worth getting nervous over.

It does confirm one thing for her—she  _ really  _ does need to get laid ASAP, so she can put all these frivolous and distracting thoughts aside and focus once more on her acting career and escaping this rut she’s stuck in.

Michelle nearly jumps out of her skin when her phone buzzes noisily on the countertop. She picks it up, seeing a text from Peter:  _ hey I’m downstairs. _

Michelle takes it as a good sign that he’s actually--incredibly--on time for their little tryst. She goes over to the intercom to buzz him in, and then downs the rest of Gwen’s wine. 

“Here we go,” she mutters to her reflection in the microwave’s door as she fixes her hair one last time. “No regrets.”

There’s a knock at the door a moment later. Michelle takes a deep breath and opens it.

Peter stands on the other side, his hair damp like he’d come straight to her place from a shower. He gives her an awkward, close-lipped smile and holds up a bouquet of cheap, wilted corner store flowers.

“How cheesy is this?” he asks.

“Very,” Michelle says, smiling back at him as she takes the flowers. His awkwardness helps soothe some of her own nerves. “But good cheesy.”

“Oh, good,” Peter says as Michelle ushers him through the door and takes him into the kitchen. “I gotta be real with you--I don’t usually do anything like this, so I’m not sure what the etiquette is.”

“Relax. This is all about having a good time,” Michelle tells him as she puts the flowers in a glass of water, like she hasn’t been a bundle of nerves all afternoon long. “You want something to drink? I think we finished off all of the good stuff Harry brought over, but if you’re okay with boxed wine and cheap beer we’re well-stocked.”

“Cheap beer is fine. Where’s Gwen?”

“She went out with Ned, so we have the place to ourselves.”

“Convenient.”

Michelle grabs a beer out of the fridge and pops the cap, smirking as she hands it to Peter. “Planned.”

Peter smiles as he takes it, but then sets it down on the counter instead of drinking it. He moves closer to Michelle, standing so near that she can feel the warmth of his body. She instantly feels a coil of heat tighten low in her belly.

“If I’m jumping the gun here please feel free to smack me upside the head,” Peter tells her as his hands come up to gently hold her by the arms. “But I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon and, uh...it’s been a little distracting to say the least, and now that you’re right here in front of me…”

He trails off, his eyes on her lips. She wets them with her tongue, watching him swallow hard, another little thrill shooting through her. She’s never felt so anxious or so powerful in her life.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she teases, one-hundred-percent on board with moving things along quickly.

Peter meets her eyes, a smile briefly curling his mouth. And then he’s stepping even closer to her, walking her backwards until the small of her back bumps into the edge of the counter. 

He tilts her chin up with one hand and leans forward to kiss her, soft at first and then more urgently. 

Michelle puts her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his body against hers. She runs the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips and he eagerly opens up for her, his hands running up and down her arms before settling on her hips.

The edge of the counter is digging into her back but Michelle barely even registers it, too focused on devouring Peter the way she’s been longing to do ever since that first kiss they’d shared at the Coffee Bean. She grabs his hands and impatiently pulls them to her breasts, whimpering into his mouth as he traces her nipples through the cups of her bra.

She breaks their kiss, gulping down air as she presses her hands to his chest and pushes him away a little. An expression of lust-addled confusion briefly flits over Peter’s face before understanding dawns on him as Michelle grabs the hem of her dress and pulls it off over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her bra joins it a second later. 

She leans back against the counter, a little smirk on her lips, watching him as his eyes appreciatively roam her exposed body before meeting her gaze.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, almost tenderly, and it does something funny to Michelle’s stomach.

“And therefore I have value?” she asks with a sardonic grin, playing it off. 

But Peter doesn’t take the bait. He leans forward and mouths at her jaw instead, sucking at that sensitive spot right under her ear that makes her shiver and has goosebumps rising all along her arms.

“Anyone who talks to you for five minutes knows you’re a hell of a lot more than just a pretty face,” he murmurs to her, before tracing the curve of her neck with his lips, down to her collarbone. He dips his tongue into the hollow of her clavicle, his hands coming up to cup her breasts.

He circles her areola with his thumbs and lightly drags the edge of his thumbnails across the stiff buds of her nipples, and then drops his head down to take one in his mouth, teasing her with his teeth and tongue until she’s gasping. He releases the dark, flushed peak of her breast and lavishes the same attention on the other one, giving her a soft little bite under the swell of her breast.

This is already a thousand times better than anything Brad-or-David gave her, Michelle blissfully thinks, her toes curling as she mewls in pleasure. She squeezes her thighs together in an attempt to ease the hot tight ache pulsing between them but it only makes it worse.

Peter must notice her predicament and be moved to mercy, because he drops to his knees in front of her. He reaches up and holds her by the hips, his hands hot against her skin as he looks up at her with soft eyes. 

“Is it okay if I…?” he asks, the expression on his face almost pleading. It sends a jolt of arousal straight down into Michelle’s core.

She nods, shifting her feet farther apart. “Yeah. Please.”

She looks down at him, her heart beating fast with anticipation. Her breath stutters as his thumbs stroke along the crease where her thighs meet her hips, over and over until she’s impatiently shifting her weight on her feet, desperate for more. And then he’s running a thumb right over the center of her where she needs his touch the most, tracing the seam of her folds through her underwear. Back and forth, featherlight. 

She sucks in a sharp breath, raptly watching him from under lowered eyelashes. She’s already so wet she can feel dampness seeping through the fabric of her underwear.

Peter must feel it, too, because he pulls his hand away and brings it to his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb against his tongue to taste her, never breaking eye contact.

“God,” Michelle hears herself say, breathless, her knees weak. She moans softly as Peter leans forward and starts mouthing at her through her underwear, laving his tongue over her until the fabric is soaked from his saliva and her arousal.

She drops her hands to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the heat building but still wanting  _ more more more.  _ “Please.”

Peter leans back long enough to pull her underwear down her thighs. Michelle shimmies out of them, kicking them off her ankles, and then she’s tugging insistently at Peter’s hair, guiding him back between her thighs.

She gasps as he spreads her open with a thumb and forefinger, exposing the slick hidden parts of her to his mouth, and gasps again when his tongue finds her clit, coaxing the hard little bead out from under its hood. She bites her lip, stifling whimpers as he gently suckles at her, his free hand sliding along the clenched muscles of her stomach back up to her breasts, callused fingertips plucking at their flushed, perked peaks.

Peter nudges her legs farther apart, scooting closer on his knees and burying his face deeper into her wet heat, his tongue alternating between flicking at her clit and then sliding down to circle her entrance. 

He touches her there with the tip of a finger, and she can’t keep quiet any longer, panting as he teases her, just barely dipping his finger in and out.

“Please,” Michelle says again, her voice breaking as her fingers tighten in his hair. “I wanna feel you inside.”

He hums against her, drawing out another sharp gasp that turns into a moan as she feels his finger slide deep inside of her. He strokes her slowly and gently while sucking at her clit again, and then slips a second finger inside her. 

“Yeah, please, just like that. Keep doing  _ exactly _ that,” Michelle breathlessly orders as Peter crooks his fingers inside her, rubbing against that spot behind her pubic bone that sends waves of pleasure rolling through her whole body. Her thighs are starting to shake, and she releases Peter’s head to grip the edge of the counter instead, her chest heaving as he brings her closer and closer to the precipice. 

Peter obediently keeps the tempo, his fingers pressing firm and relentless inside of her. He drops his other hand from her breasts to grip her by the hip, holding her steady as his tongue swirls around the swollen bead between her lips.

Michelle finishes with a cry, clenching around his fingers again and again as she rides rippling surges of pleasure. His hand on her hip is the only thing holding her upright as she comes down from her orgasm, her tensed muscles going as soft as jelly in the aftermath.

Peter slips his fingers out of her and runs his tongue one last time along her wet folds before standing up. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says, eyes dark and dilated with arousal, his lips flushed and shining. 

“I think I’m supposed to say that to you after  _ that,” _ Michelle says with a pleased smile, still catching her breath.

Peter huffs out a soft laugh. “Hang on, Red, I’m not done yet. We’re just getting started here. The best is yet to come.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes, smiling wider. “A bold promise coming from the world’s biggest flake. You sure you can deliver on it, tiger?”

Peter grins at her. “Let’s find out.”

He cups Michelle’s face in his hands and kisses her, his tongue slipping into her mouth and giving her a taste of herself, and then he spins her around so she’s facing the counter, pulling her back flush against his front, one hand on her hip while the other fondles her breasts. 

Michelle can feel the hard line of his erection pressing against her bare ass through his jeans, and it sends another spike of arousal through her even as she’s still recovering from her orgasm. She braces her hands against the countertop as Peter sweeps her hair over her shoulder and bends his head to kiss the bare nape of her neck, rutting against her while his fingers find their way between her legs again, sliding through the slippery mess there and leaving her open-mouthed and gasping.

She’s wondering if he’s going to fuck her right there bent over the countertop, a thought that has her getting even more turned on, but then he’s pulling her upright and turning her around again, his mouth finding hers, soft and sweet.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” he murmurs against her lips.

“Yeah...yeah, let’s do that,” Michelle agrees, taking his hand in hers and guiding him to her bedroom. 

She kisses him again once they’re in her bedroom, slower and more patient this time now that she’s released some of that simmering tension she’d been carrying. She explores his mouth with her tongue while her hands do the same to his body, sliding under his t-shirt to map the hard ridges of his abs and the firm planes of his chest, thinking that she must have done something  _ really _ selflessly good in a past life to be rewarded with this glorious specimen of a man in this one. She slips her hands out of his shirt and runs them over his biceps, feeling the steely muscle flex under her fingers.

“Do you like, work out instead of sleeping or something?” she asks. “Cause this is completely ridiculous.”

Peter snorts softly, amused. 

“Are you coming on to me, Jones?” he asks with a cheeky grin. “I feel like you’re coming on to me.”

Michelle rolls her eyes again, shoving him backwards onto the bed and then climbing up to straddle him. She slides her hands under his t-shirt again, this time rolling it up and tugging it off over his head. She settles back on his thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before her—Peter half-naked in her bed, tanned skin stretched across lithe muscle. 

But Michelle finds herself frowning as she studiously observes him. There’s a puckered purple-red scar over his hip, a bruise the size of her hand across his ribs, another on his shoulder. 

“Okay, I was sorta joking that time I said I thought you were in a fight club, but now I’m thinking you’re  _ actually  _ in a fight club,” she says flatly.

Peter holds his hands palm up in a helpless gesture, smiling at her. “You got me. I admit it—every night I go out in secret and let a bunch of sweaty shady dudes beat on me in a ritualistic ode to toxic masculinity and latent homoeroticism.”

Michelle scoffs, smiling back at him. “You’re such a nerd.”

“But a  _ sexy _ nerd, right?” he asks, grinning as he reaches up to cup her breasts again. “You should see me when I got a guy in a headlock begging me for mercy. It’s  _ very  _ hot stuff.”

“I seriously hate you,” Michelle says, gasping as he lightly pinches her nipples. “You don’t take anything seriously.”

“You said this was all about relaxing and having fun,” he says, sitting up and ducking his head to mouth at her breasts, pushing them up to lap at her nipples with the flat of his tongue. He lifts his head, smiling again as he meets her eyes. “I take that very seriously. I want you to have a good time.”

“Well, so far so good,” Michelle says, tilting his face up to capture his mouth with hers again. She sucks at his lower lip while she rocks her hips, grinding down on the hard bulge pressing into her inner thigh, swallowing the soft sound Peter makes into her mouth.

“Jesus,” he says, collapsing backwards onto the bed, his face flushed. “You’re killing me.”

Michelle smirks, stroking the tight muscles of his stomach as she scoots backwards off the bed, coming to stand between his legs.

“We’re just getting started,” she echoes slyly, kneeling down on the floor. “The best is yet to come.”

She reaches for the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning them and then sliding the zipper down, tugging his jeans open and humming in pleased delight at the sight of his dick tenting his briefs. There’s a damp spot on the fabric right over the tip. She bends her head and swipes the flat of her tongue over it, feeling his dick jump at the contact.

“Jesus,” Peter breathes again, propping himself up on his elbows to watch her. 

Michelle slips her fingers into his waistband, tugging, and Peter lifts his hips to let her pull his jeans and his briefs off together. She seriously feels her mouth start to water as his toned thighs are revealed to her, but it’s the sight of his rock-hard erection, bobbing up towards his navel, the tip glistening with precum, that really stokes the heat building again low in her belly.

“Mm, pretty,” Michelle murmurs, taking it in hand and lightly stroking him.

“Did you just call my dick  _ pretty?”  _ Peter asks, amused.

“All of you is pretty,” Michelle says honestly, running her other hand up and down the inside of his thigh, tracing another mysterious scar she finds, the corded muscle there twitching under her fingertips.

“And therefore I have value?” Peter teases.

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” Michelle says with a grin before leaning her head down to run her tongue along the length of him and then take him into her mouth.

She hollows her cheeks, tracing patterns on the underside of his dick with the tip of her tongue while she slowly bobs her head, softly humming around him when she feels his hands gently touch her hair. She puts her own hand down between her legs, sliding her fingers back and forth through her slick heat, that sweet aching throb building and building.

“You’re seriously gonna kill me,” Peter says as his fingers comb lightly through her curls, his voice sounding a little strained.

Michelle pulls off, licking her lips, her smile wicked. “Not till I’m done with you. Condom?”

Peter leans over, scrambling for his discarded jeans and fumbling his wallet out of the back pocket. He slides a foil packet out of it, holding it up between his fingers.

Michelle takes it from him, tearing it open. She climbs back up on the bed, pushing Peter to lie flat once more before rolling the condom on him, her heart racing again in thrilled anticipation.

She throws a leg over him, straddling his hips and rubbing his hard length against her wet, sensitive folds, looking down at him from under lowered lashes.

Peter runs his hands up and down her arms, over her stomach and breasts and thighs, but his eyes are on hers.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” he murmurs, his hands settling on her hips.

“Cheesy,” Michelle says with a smile, reaching a hand down to guide him into her.

“You like it,” Peter says, grinning, before letting out a punched-out gasp as she starts sliding down onto him, his hands tightening on her hips.

Michelle bites her lip, her head falling back as she takes him deeper. She lifts her hips and lets them fall again, the hot hard length of him opening her up so perfectly it makes her toes curl. 

Peter makes another soft sound. Michelle opens her eyes and looks down at him lying soft-eyed and open-mouthed under her, that pretty pink flush spreading down his throat and chest.

“Feels good?” she asks like she doesn’t already know the answer. She strokes his chest and rocks on him, her eyelids fluttering as little sparks of pleasure burst deep inside her.

“Yeah...feels great. You’re great, you’re perfect,  _ god,”  _ he replies, breathless, his fingers digging into the meat of her hips, lifting her up and pulling her back down. 

Michelle throws her head back again, the long curtain of her hair sticking to her damp back, every push and pull of him inside her bringing her closer and closer to ecstatic release. She’s already decided they’re going to have to do this again, and again, and  _ again. _

“Do you like cars?” Michelle asks, gasping as he thrusts his hips up into her, the room filled with the sounds of their strained breathing and the soft slap of their bodies meeting.

“Do I...like cars?” Peter blinks at her, his rhythm briefly faltering before he picks it right back up again. “Uh...this is a little embarrassing to admit, but I don’t even have my driver’s license. So no, I’m not really into cars.”

Michelle nods, moaning as he hits that perfect angle inside of her. She braces her hands against his chest to give herself more leverage as she sets up a more demanding pace, drawing a long, low groan out of Peter.

“What about chick flicks?” she asks.

“Chick flicks?  _ Love _ chick flicks, obviously,” Peter replies, panting. “Why does this feel like a test? Is this a test? Did I pass?”

Michelle smiles, lying down flush on top of him.

“With flying colors,” she purrs, kissing him again, biting at his lower lip.

He makes a helpless sound against her mouth, and then he’s effortlessly flipping them over, pulling Michelle’s hips up so she’s lying propped at a slight angle on top of his thighs. 

“Is this okay?” Peter asks, gently rocking into her.

Even that slight motion has Michelle writhing in gratification. She wraps her legs around his waist, driving her heels into the backs of his thighs to urge him on. “Yes, yes,  _ please,  _ I want it.”

Peter gives it to her, everything she wants and more. She’s nearly in tears, crying out every time he thrusts forward, riding right on the edge of release, closer and closer. 

Peter pulls her arms up over her head, cradling both her hands in one of his while the other dips between their bodies to rub her clit. He bends his head to mouth and suck at her neck and the sides of her breasts, and that pushes her over. She clenches tight around him, her whole body shaking, lights dancing behind her tightly closed eyelids, her mouth opened in a silent cry of bliss.

Peter makes a low, strangled noise as she squeezes around him, his driving pace faltering. He presses his face against the side of Michelle’s neck, his breath coming in harsh pants against her throat as he follows her over the finish line.

They lie like that for several long moments, trying to catch their breath, before Peter finally shifts off of her. 

“Okay...that was good,” Michelle admits, gulping air.  _ “Really  _ good.”

Peter props himself up on an elbow and offers her a smug smile. “I told you I had a lotta tricks up my sleeve.”

Michelle snorts softly, pressing a hand to her chest where she can feel her heart still racing. “You did, but you still suck at everything else, so don’t let this go to your head.”

Peter’s smile curls wider. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m pretty sure you’d never let it. And anyway...I’m just glad you had a good time.”

Michelle feels a flush of heat bloom under her skin, something softer and slower than the all-consuming fires of lust.

“Yeah, I did,” she murmurs, smiling at him. She bites her lip, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe...we could do it again sometime?”

Peter grins, rolling over on top of her once more. She can feel his dick already pressing hard into her thigh, which is both impressive and incredibly flattering. 

“I think we could do this again,” he agrees, kissing her collarbone and shuffling backwards. “And again…” Another kiss just below her navel. “And again…” A kiss to her inner thigh.

Michelle makes a soft pleased sound as his mouth finds its way back between her legs next, her thighs falling open and her eyes closing, a part of her still wondering how in the world she and Peter got here and another, louder part wondering why it took them this long.


	6. Chapter 6

Michelle wakes the following morning with her entire body feeling sore, like she’s just run an epic uphill marathon. Muscles she didn’t even know she had feel like jello, tender and quivering.

Peter had left sometime in the small hours of the morning after his phone had interrupted a particularly satisfying round of sex. He’d been apologetic as he’d given Michelle some vague excuse to explain his sudden need to cut their romp short, but Michelle had been well-and-thoroughly fucked out by that point and had only managed to nod, blissfully drifting on endorphins and only half-paying attention to him as he’d quickly dressed and departed. 

He’d kissed her before he’d left, which she had thought was a little cheesy, yeah, but sweet.

Michelle rolls over in bed, kicking free of the sheets tangled around her bare legs. She stretches, sighing in satisfaction, before dragging herself out of bed. She shuffles over to her dresser and digs out a long, loose t-shirt, pulling it on. She badly needs a shower but first—a hot cup of tea.

This singular goal in mind, Michelle opens her bedroom door and nearly runs straight into Gwen standing on the other side.

“What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Gwen immediately asks her, fuming.

Michelle blinks at her, confused and sleep-muddled. “Uh...I was gonna go make some tea?”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, glaring up at Michelle. “Don’t be cute. I  _ saw _ Peter leaving this building last night. I  _ know _ what you two were doing.  _ That  _ was your booty call?  _ Peter?  _ Michelle—what the ever-loving  _ fuck?” _

Michelle grimaces, but stands her ground. “Hey,  _ you’re  _ the one who kept saying you’d wish me and Peter would get to know each other better.”

“Not like  _ that,”  _ Gwen squawks. She clasps her hands in front of her, like she’s begging. “MJ, please—this is a  _ terrible _ idea, trust me. Peter is a  _ disaster.” _

“Yeah, but counterpoint—have you seen his abs?” Michelle asks, grinning at her.

Gwen throws up her hands, making an exasperated noise. “Oh my  _ god— _ you’re both idiots. I’m gonna  _ kill  _ him.”

She presses her hands to her face briefly in total frustrated anguish before raising her head to look at Michelle, her expression pleading. “Please tell me this was a one-time thing.  _ Please,  _ Michelle. I’m trying to protect you. I know Peter is my friend and I love him, and therefore I do not feel bad about saying that  _ he is not worth it _ . You can have  _ anyone _ , MJ. Just  _ not  _ Peter Parker.”

Michelle sucks in air through her teeth, wincing. “Yeah, sorry...I can’t make any promises. It was  _ that _ good.”

“Michelle…” Gwen starts beseechingly, eyes full of despair.  _ “No.” _

“Sorry, Gwendy, darling,” Michelle says with a smirk, tweaking Gwen’s nose before stepping around her and heading towards the kitchen. “You know me—no regrets, no plan B. I’m all in, honey.”

* * *

In the interest of her long running friendship with Gwen, Michelle  _ does _ reconsider what she’s doing with Peter. 

She considers it when Peter comes over that weekend when Gwen and Ned are out on a date, bending her over her dresser, panting as he pumps into her hard and fast towards a chase to the finish.

She considers it again during a quickie in the stock room of the Coffee Bean, Peter’s strangled groan turning her on as she bobbed her head up and down his dick - sucking hard on the upstroke as her hand clutches his thigh, still shaking from the orgasm he’d given her from his fingers alone. 

She considers it every single time they meet up to have sex and then promptly dismisses it, pointedly ignoring Gwen’s subtle as a sledgehammer disappointment anytime she caught Peter sneaking out of her bedroom. 

Michelle trusts Gwen more than almost anyone else in the world but she’s convinced that this one time - she has to be wrong. 

Peter is absolutely a disaster of a human, Michelle has known him for too many years to think anything less. But that disaster of a human knows how to work his tongue like magic, Michelle never being more thankful that Gwen worked long hours at Oscorp as she rides Peter’s face - tightly grasping the headboard in front of her as she pants.

“Fuck, right there,” she whines, Peter humming appreciatively as his hands knead at her thighs and her ass - Michelle’s back arching as he tongue fucks her into oblivion.

He lets out a groan as her thighs squeeze around his ears, forgetting herself for a moment as rides her second orgasm of the afternoon out - only to snap open her eyes and pant out, “Shit, sorry. Sorry.”

She leans back, Peter looking flushed from the exertion or from the lack of oxygen she’s not sure - Michelle seeing his chin and nose still glistening as he grins.

“It’s okay,” he says, hands gently caressing her hips again and pulling her forward. Michelle gasps as he licks a long stripe against her center, sucking at her still sensitive clit before pushing her back to his chest. “If I die, I die.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Michelle says with a breathless laugh, scooching down his chest even further before kissing him deep and slow - Peter’s erection rock hard underneath her.

“I know what you are but what am I?” he quips back, Michelle smirking at him as he flips them over - Michelle quickly turning onto her stomach as Peter leans over to her bedside table, hearing the crinkle of the condom as she braces herself on her knees. 

“I wanna see you,” he says, his breath hot and voice low against her ear. Michelle shivers from it, arching herself against him as she says, “I’m right here.”

His hands ghost over her breast, thumb brushing against her nipple when she feels his tip nudging at her entrance. Peter leaves open mouthed kisses along her spine as she sighs, hands clutching at the mattress when he finally pushes himself inside her.

Michelle immediately sinks her arms down onto the mattress, too tired to hold herself up only for Peter to brace himself against her, one hand wrapped around her waist as he rocks into her hard, pulling out deliciously slow.

“Peter,” she pants out, clutching at the mattress as Peter’s hands shift to her hips as he asks, “Is this good?”

Michelle’s beyond words at the moment, nodding her head up and down so fast and letting out a moan in response - Peter’s rhythm increasing as he changes the angle of it, hitting that perfect spot with the kind of precision that makes her black out a second.

It’s impossible how good he is at this, how  _ good _ he makes her feel - Michelle pushing her hips back to meet him thrust for thrust, the angle that he’s hitting and the power behind his movements already pushing her closer and closer to release. 

The problem with a new partner was always the learning curve, the process of learning each other’s bodies being something that was always worth it—Michelle expected nothing less— but still something to overcome. Pete took to learning her body like she was the most fascinating person in the world - Michelle pulling all out all the stops in reciprocating yet thinking each time that he somehow had her beat. 

Michelle likes to think of herself as someone who gives as good as she gets but she’s having a hard time focusing on anything else than pleasure as she pants, the palm of her hands digging into the mattress as their movements become sloppy and disjointed. 

“Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck, _ Peter,” Michelle calls out, hearing Peter groan as his hips start to stutter. He leans over her, one hand reaching down to her clit as he starts pumping into her at an almost punishing pace. 

It’s enough to do her in, moaning almost embarrassingly loud as she comes - riding out the waves of pleasure that ripple out from her center towards her fingers and toes, before collapsing onto the bed. 

Peter’s not too far behind, Michelle finally feeling like she’s just returning back to her body as he finishes with a groan. His hand drops from her clit, pressing kisses down the sticky, sweaty small of her back before pulling out. Michelle lazily opens her eyes and barely holds back a laugh as he waddles off the bed and disposes of the condom. 

She flips over to her back, Peter coming to lay beside her as they catch their breath. Michelle can’t really think straight and finds herself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind as she asks, “Are you a mutant or something?”

“What?” Peter chokes out, his eyes bulging as Michelle laughs. She rolls over to her side, leaning her head against her elbow as she says, “how the hell are you ready to go again so quickly? Not that I’m complaining, I’m just…” Michelle pants out, her chest still heaving as Peter stumbles after himself.

“Uh just, you know, I’m— just lucky, I guess,” he says with a grin, that same pink flush that she’s grown accustomed to seeing billowing out across his face and his chest.

“Lucky for me,” she says, a thought nudging her in the back of her mind that he’s hiding something but letting the endorphins of her orgasm easily push it aside as she leans in to kiss him. 

He melts into it, bringing a hand to her face and gently cradling her chin only to groan when she pulls away - looking dazed and disappointed as she leans up and off the bed.

“Five more minutes,” he says, Michelle laughing as she walks over to her chest of drawers.

“ _ Five _ minutes? You’re good but not that good,” Michelle says, looking back at him over her shoulder.

The sight of him sprawled out on her bed, clearly flexing as he crosses his arms behind his head sends another rush of heat to her lower belly.

“Wanna bet?” he asks with a wink, Michelle appreciatively taking in his naked form as he continues, “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“I know exactly how good you are with your hands,” Michelle says with a smirk, all of her self-control forcing her attention back to the clothes in her drawer and not the promise of riding Peter till she forgets her name. “But if I don’t leave in the next twenty minutes, I’ll be late for my audition.”

She grabs her lucky jeans and her favorite shirt - a graphic tee that has a newspaper clipping of the Black Dahlia murder - hoping the combination will be enough to set her apart considering the role was for minor character in a crime procedural. 

Kitschy? Maybe, but Michelle’s gonna pull out all the stops if it’ll work.

“You’re gonna murder it, MJ. Absolutely killer,” Peter says, Michelle turning back to him and raising her eyebrow.

Peter unfurls his arms from behind his head, sitting up as he says, “Get it? Cause it’s a murder show?”

“You remembered?” Michelle asks incredulously, scrambling to remember when she had ever mentioned it to begin with only for Peter’s cheek to flush a pretty pink as he says, “Well yeah. I know this is important to you.”

Michelle just stares blankly at him for a moment, touched and something unnamed rushing through her as she shakes her head and goes to grab a towel from her clean pile of laundry - a shower being more of a priority than the makeup she knows she can do on the subway. 

“Thanks. But you don’t have to do that you know,” she says, grabbing a scarf to protect her hair as Peter asks, “Do what?”

“Flatter me,” she says, gesturing to him with her scarf in her hand. “We’re still on for tomorrow, good or bad.”

She pauses, tilting her head to the side before saying, “Maybe tonight if it goes bad.”

“I’m not flattering you,” Peter says quickly, Michelle looking at him in surprise with how sincere his voice is. He smiles at her, swinging his legs over the bed.

He walks over to her, eyes searching her face and his hands gently resting against her arms before saying, “I mean it, MJ. You’re gonna do great.”

Michelle feels flustered in a way she’s not used to, leaning forward to kiss him - Peter’s thumb gently caressing her arm as she does.

She away from him, feeling breathless and a little something else she doesn’t wanna think too much about as Michelle opens her eyes, seeing the soft look in Peter’s as she says, “Thanks, nerd.”

  
  


* * *

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” Michelle says as she turns the volume up on her cell phone, adjusting the earbuds she has in her ear as she slips her phone into her pocket. For once, she doesn’t have to lie to her mom about the audition. It  _ did _ go relatively well, enough that Michelle feels good about it at least. 

“That’s good, Meesh. I’m glad,” she hears her mom say on the other line, hearing her dad in the background before her mom says, “your dad says hi. He’s in the hot tub now.”

Michelle smiles to herself as she walks down the city street, a bounce to her step and a lightness in her chest as she says, “Tell him to put on sunscreen. He looked like a lobster in that last picture you sent.”

Her mom laughs before saying that she will, Michelle distantly hearing her dad say something in the background again only for a shadow to pass over as she walks towards the subway. She glances up and sees Spider-Man, looking up at him in confusion when he does a flip and then lands on a lightning pole. 

He stares at her for a beat just as she stares at him, only to shake her head and laugh when he does a funny little wave. 

Michelle awkwardly waves back, feeling flattered that Spider-Man would remember who she was only to instantly feel embarrassed that he could be waving to someone else just as her mom asks, “We miss you sweetheart.” 

“Miss you too mom,” she says, looking behind her shoulder and finding no one of note - turning back to see Spider-Man just tilting his head at her. 

Michelle makes a face before smiling and resuming the walk to her subway stop as she asks, “When do you guys get back?”

“Tuesday. Would you be free to meet with us for dinner then?"

Michelle still gets the feeling like she's being watched, only to confirm it when she looks over her shoulder and sees Spider-Man still there - Michelle now looking at him in confusion only to smirk when he does another wave, sending out a hand and swinging away.

_ That was weird _ , she thinks to herself before turning her attention back to her mom as she says, "I don't know, if things go well I might have a callback then."

She can hear her mother's sigh on the other line, the same one that she always gives anytime Michelle mentions the uncertainty of her line of work.

"Mom--" Michell begins, only for her mother to say, "I didn't say anything."

"You were going to," Michelle counters, seeing the subway stop within eye distance as she crosses the street.

"You are a smart, talented, passionate young woman, Michelle. You know your dad and I support you in whatever it is that you want to do."

_ But _ , Michelle thinks but doesn't say, her mom continuing on, "Are you sure you don't want to be a doctor? You always were so good with science."

Michelle playfully rolls her eyes before saying, "I'm good, thanks."

She sees a shadow once again, looking up only to see Spider-Man swinging back and forth - doing flips and tricks in a way that she's never seen before but has only heard, a group of tourists by her starting to snap pictures.

It's bewildering but hilarious, enough to make her laugh. Spider-Man does another flip, landing on yet another lightning post before doing a funny little salute in her direction, Michelle just shaking her head in disbelief as her mom asks, "What happened?"

"Uh," Michelle says, not quite sure how to explain whatever is happening to herself much less to her mother, shaking her head as she says, "Nothing. I'm-- I'm good, mom. Promise."

Her mom thankfully stays on topic, humming on the other line before saying, "We just want you to be happy, sweetheart."

Michelle grins, the lightness she feels returning as she gets closer and closer to the subway stop. Only a few weeks ago, she'd been ready to throw in the towel but it's undeniable - she  _ is _ happy. Happier than she's been in awhile.

She can think of a few reasons why that may be, but she doesn't say it - choosing instead to put her best face forward as she says, "I promise mom, I am."

* * *

That happy mood carries her throughout the next week, forgoing meeting up with Peter again that night to celebrate a good audition with Gwen only to more than make up for it the next night. 

It’s as if they’re making up for lost time, Peter sleeping in her bed more times than not despite how vehemently opposed Gwen was to the whole ordeal. 

It’s partly why Michelle offered a true girls night as an olive branch, Peter and Ned off to do God knows what on a Thursday night while Harry was out on an actual date.

Michelle’s taste testing the pasta sauce she has on the stove, humming to herself at the realization that for once she’s actually keeping her post-grad promises to herself. 

_ Don’t settle for the role of best friend. Always go out for the lead. _

The crime show gave her a callback but it was anyone’s guess if she’s get the part. It wasn’t a lead but it certainly wasn’t the best friend. If she got the part, she’d get the chance to act opposite the lead of the show which had to count for something. 

_ Cook at least four real meals at home per week. _

_ Check _ , Michelle thinks to herself - making the compromise that her and Gwen had shared the difference for most of the week, much less Peter a few nights before.

The details of their arrangement had never been formally stated so much as it was assumed that Peter would come over to her place. She hasn’t asked to see his place and he hadn’t offered, not that Michelle minded much. She liked seeing Peter in her kitchen as he made the two of them sandwiches as a midnight snack, the memory of that first night stirring her on - the only reason they made it back to the bathroom being Gwen sleeping in her own room just a few feet away. 

_ Call mom and dad every Sunday.  _ _ Don’t date guys who like cars.  _ _ Don’t date girls who hate chick flicks. _

Michelle keeps humming to herself as she finishes cooking, grabbing some bowls and silverware as the water stops in the bathroom - indicating that Gwen was done with her shower. 

She’s called her mom  _ twice  _ this week, much less actually getting the chance to see them when they came back from their vacation in Cabo. And while she hadn’t been on a real date in awhile, she was fine with the arrangement she and Peter had going - the last promise to herself echoing in her mind as she pours our servings for both her and Gwen. 

_ Never fake an orgasm. _

Michelle has never been apologetic about asking for what she wanted - both inside and outside the bedroom. Yet it was incredible how intune Peter was to her body just as she was learning every inch of his, letting her mind drift back to a particularly satisfying night as she makes her way to the couch.

The way Peter’s hands felt as they curled into her, rubbing at that perfect sensitive spot that sent shivers down her spine. The way his cheeks flushed that delicious shade of pink as he comes, gasping out her name as she rode him hard and fast. The sweet way he’d always kiss her when they were done, gently helping her up and working her and himself over again and again - Michelle half-seriously considering her question before if he was a mutant for how relentless he could be, not that she was complaining. 

Michelle’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even register that Gwen has come out of the bathroom until she’s standing right next to her, Michelle snapping out of it and staring up at her best friend.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her right eyebrow arching as Michelle coughs a few times, nodding before turning her attention back to her now cooling pasta bowl.

“Good, just tired,” Michelle says carefully, hearing Gwen’s snort as she settles down beside her - passing the blanket on their couch between the two of them. Michelle reaches over to grab the remote and switches the tv, turning it to the documentary they’d already talked about watching bad Gwen mutters something under her breath. 

“What?” Michelle asks, already anticipating where the conversation is going to go from the look on Gwen’s face. She watches as Gwen grinds her teeth, Michelle pausing the documentary as she says, “I just don’t get it.”

“Gwen…”

“You hated him. For  _ years _ . I love him, MJ. I do but of all the people you could’ve chosen, of  _ all _ the available, single, drama free people in the city that you could’ve fucked around with, you chose  _ Peter _ ?” 

Michelle stabs her pasta with her fork, taking a bite of it before looking back to Gwen with a mischievous grin. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Gwen deadpans, Michelle snickering before saying, “I forgot you and Ned have been together since high school.”

Gwen smiles at that, her features softening as Michelle looks to her. She can see the gears turning behind Gwen’s eyes, silently eating her pasta as she waits for her closest friend to make sense of something that Michelle herself wonders how it came to be. 

On paper, nothing’s changed. Peter is still annoyingly late to work half the time and her auditions - while looking up - still haven’t panned out in any fantastic way. But Michelle  _ has _ gotten the chance to get to know Peter a little more, enough that she finally gets why so many of her friends are completely enamored with him.

Peter is funny, self-deprecating in a way that makes Michelle appreciate the fact that a white man can be so fully aware of not just his shortcomings but his privilege. He’s incredibly giving, not just as a partner in bed but as a person - the way he looks at her when he’s between her legs and when he’s making her breakfast being one in the same, committed it seems to keeping her happy and content. The thing that floors her is how much she wants to give  _ him _ too, looking forward to seeing him on the shifts they work together and relishing the way he pants out  _ her  _ name when she takes him into her mouth. 

She gets it, now - only to be thrown off guard when Gwen says, “Just be careful, MJ.”

Michelle turns her attention back to Gwen, an itch in the back of her neck at how conflicted Gwen looks as she asks, “What do you mean?” 

Gwen bites her lip, looking uncharacteristically uncertain before sitting up and saying, “I love Peter. You know that I do.”

“But… what? Is he a murderer and you’re all just covering for him?” Michelle asks, half-joking but feeling a little twinge in her gut for how serious Gwen looks. It’s relieved when Gwen laughs, shaking her head before propping her head into her hand as she leans against the couch.

“No, I just-- I’ve known Peter for a long time. A  _ very _ long time. His life is very… complicated,” Gwen says carefully, Michelle just squinting at her as she continues, “I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“His life may be complicated but  _ we _ are not,” Michelle says definitively, taking another bite of her pasta as Gwen purses her lips. “What he does when he’s not with me is not my business, not my problem.”

“I know you keep pretending like you don’t care but I know you do,” Gwen says, Michelle swallowing down not just her food but the knowledge that Gwen knows her so frustratingly well. “He really likes you, MJ.”

Michelle scoffs, rolling her eyes as she stabs at her pasta again.

“I mean it, MJ. He  _ likes _ you. He--” Gwen cuts herself off, Michelle feeling that same stirring in her gut that she’d really rather ignore as Gwen sighs. “I just think you should be careful.”

“I am. My birth control is perfect and we use condoms every time, mom,” Michelle says with a wink, Gwen looking at her and sighing in exasperation. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be careful with his feelings or whatever,” Michelle says dismissively, hoping that Gwen doesn’t call her out on her choice of words only to be disappointed but not surprised when she doesn’t.

“You can act like it’s all a joke to everyone else but not with me, MJ. I know you. I think you like him too,” Gwen begins, Michelle making another face only for Gwen to press forward, “I just think you should… talk with him a little more before you decide to go any further with this.”

“We talk,” Michelle says, Gwen just staring at her unmoved. Michelle stares back, knowing that in this particular instance this is a fight that she won’t win when she sighs and says, “okay, fine. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” Gwen says, content with Michelle’s words as she slings an arm around her neck - Michelle squawking about the pasta in her hand as Gwen pulls her into a hug. “You deserve the best.” 

“Only the best,” Michelle says, tapping her hand against Gwen’s arm - glad that she has a friend who loves her, ignoring the unsettled feeling in her gut.


	7. Chapter 7

Michelle doesn’t exactly  _ forget  _ Gwen’s warning about Peter. It lingers in the back of her mind, coming to surface every now and then when Peter shows up to her place with more mysterious bruises, or when he suddenly bails on their plans at the last minute, or gets a phone call in the middle of one of their trysts and gives her some terrible, half-baked excuse for why he has to leave. 

But Michelle is, as her mother has been pointing out since she was a toddler, stubborn to a fault. It’s easy for her to ignore these red flags when Peter’s got his face buried in between her legs and she can barely remember her own name, or when he looks at her with those big soft eyes like she hangs the moon, or when he tells her some corny awful joke to try and cheer her up after a rough shift at the Coffee Bean or a disastrous audition. 

Everyone has their faults, after all, and Peter otherwise seems too  _ good  _ to be as bad as Gwen says he is.

“Oh, so who’s defending him now?” Gwen replies dryly in response to Michelle expressing this exact sentiment to her, after Gwen once again caught Peter leaving Michelle’s bedroom early that morning.

“I’m  _ not _ defending him,” Michelle insists as she tries to retreat to the bathroom to avoid another argument. “I simply adjusted my opinion after gathering more facts. You’re a scientist—you should appreciate that.”

“Except you don’t have  _ all  _ the facts,” Gwen snaps back as she follows Michelle towards the bathroom.

Michelle rounds on her. “Okay, so—give me all the facts, then.”

That shuts Gwen up, just like Michelle knew it would.

What Michelle doesn’t expect is the guilt and sorrow that fills Gwen’s eyes as she looks up at her.

“He’s gonna break your heart in the worst way one day,” Gwen says quietly. “I just want you to know that.”

That unsettled feeling returns to Michelle’s gut at those words, but she brushes it aside as she reaches out to embrace Gwen.

“Hey, relax. I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Remember when I dated that lying asshole Alex and it turned out he was married and had kids? If I can survive that I can survive anything,” Michelle jokes. “This is just a little fun.”

But Gwen doesn’t laugh. She just squeezes Michelle tightly for a moment before abruptly releasing her and walking away, her head bowed.

Michelle watches her retreat, frowning. But she quashes that unsettled feeling as she closes the bathroom door and undresses for a shower. She spies a purple mark on the back of her shoulder in the mirror, left there by Peter’s mouth last night, and the heat that memory stirs in her overcomes any doubts she has. 

After all, Gwen has always been overprotective, and Michelle knows what she’s doing.

* * *

Michelle doesn’t forget, but she doesn’t think much about Gwen’s warning either in the weeks that follow. Between shifts at the Coffee Bean and a string of auditions, Michelle barely has time to sleep or eat. She starts to genuinely cherish the nights she spends with Peter--even the ones where she’s too tired for athletic bouts of sex and they wind up just watching a movie or cooking together. She appreciates the way he lets her voice her ongoing frustrations with her stagnant career and the way he can take the sting out of a failed audition nearly as much as she enjoys his talent in the bedroom.

And then the universe throws her a big, meaty bone of another variety.

“Excuuuuse me, sir, but customers aren’t allowed back here,” Michelle tells Ned as she carries empty milk pitchers into the back kitchen of the Coffee Bean following another hectic morning rush.

“I’m an honorary employee,” Ned insists as he helps Peter polish off old cheesecakes that failed to sell. “I help Harry with all the IT stuff around here.”

“You mean you showed him how to use an Excel spreadsheet?” Michelle says dryly, dumping the pitchers in the sink, before turning her attention to Peter. “And you—while it’s nice of you to  _ actually _ show up to work on time, it would be even better if you’d do your job instead of sitting back here stuffing your face with cake.”

“I am doing my job,” Peter replies around a mouthful of cheesecake. “Harry told me to get rid of these old cheesecakes, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not just gonna throw them out—that’s wasteful. People are starving, Em, people like me and Ned.”

Michelle smiles, rolling her eyes. “You guys are seriously gonna regret eating all that old cheesecake later.”

“Maybe, but it’s our duty. We’re dedicated to the success of this franchise,” Peter says solemnly, before winking at her. “Your phone’s ringing, by the way.”

“It is?” Michelle trots over to Harry’s little office off the kitchen where she’s left her purse, wondering how Peter could possibly have heard the muffled sound of her phone vibrating inside one of the inner pockets. 

She fumbles it free and answers. “Hello?” 

“Hey, good morning—is this Michelle Jones?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

“Speaking.”

“Oh, great. This is Cassandra Jimenez with Ars Nova—you came in for an audition a while back? You had to reschedule because of, er...incidents involving Spider-Man.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Michelle says, her pulse ticking up a bit. It starts to race even more as the conversation proceeds, until she feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Ned asks her as Michelle walks out of the office and back into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“MJ?” Peter prompts, his brow furrowed in concern, when she just silently stands there for a long moment. “Everything okay?”

Michelle nods, feeling like she’s about to vibrate apart at the seams.

“That was one of the producers of that show at Ars Nova,” she tells them. “You remember the one I was gonna audition for, and Spider-Man snatched me? I thought I lost the role to someone else...I  _ did _ lose the role to someone else, but…”

Ned looks at her under raised eyebrows. “But?”

“But the principal  _ and  _ the understudy had to drop out suddenly because of a complete fluke,” Michelle continues, starting to smile. “So…”

Peter drops his fork with a clatter onto the counter, straightening up. “Holy shit, you got the part.”

Michelle beams at him. “I got the part. I got the part!”

“You got the part!” Peter echoes, beaming right back at her. He rushes over to her and grabs her in a hug, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around in a circle while Michelle laughs, teary-eyes from sheer joy and relief. 

Peter finished twirling her around but he doesn’t let her go right away. He just holds her close, his eyes soft and warm and happy as they meet hers, and Michelle feels a rush of warmth engulf her whole body, a surge of rightness _ , _ of—

_ Love. _

The realization hits her head-on like a bullet train, leaving her reeling even more than the news that she’d gotten cast in the show had. 

But she doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because Mario pokes his head through the kitchen door a second later, his face anxious.

“Yo, the espresso machine is like,  _ possessed,”  _ he announces. “It’s spitting and smoking.”

Peter reluctantly releases Michelle, shooting her one last smile. “Duty calls. I’m really happy for you, Em. You deserve this. We’re gonna celebrate later.”

He completes that promise with another wink, his grin turning coy as he follows Mario out the doors to deal with the espresso crisis.

Michelle smiles after him, warmth still blooming in her chest. She lets out a sigh of gratitude and contentment, turning around to finish cleaning up the pitchers she’d brought back, when she catches sight of Ned smugly smirking at her.

“So,” he says, licking stale frosting off his fork. “When are guys gonna make it official?”

Michelle feels heat prickle across her cheeks as she walks over to the sink. “Make what official?”

Ned snorts. “Oh, please, you guys are  _ painfully _ obvious. Just end the charade. It’s getting embarrassing.”

Michelle considers putting her acting skills to use and continuing to play dumb, but then she remembers how she’d felt just a moment ago wrapped up in Peter’s arms. How she feels whenever she’s with him...

_ No plan B’s. No regrets. Go after what you want. _

“Gwen will be pissed,” Michelle says, rinsing out a pitcher. “She’s already pissed.”

“Gwen will get over it,” Ned says confidently. “She loves both of you. She wants you guys to be happy.”

Michelle abandons the pitchers, turning around to face him. “And what about you? You think this is a good idea?”

“Hell no, it’s a terrible idea. Peter is a  _ disaster,”  _ Ned immediately replies. “But hey, love isn’t perfect, right?”

Michelle chews the inside of her cheek, indecision running up against her stubborn tendency to seize what she wants no matter the consequences. “Right.”

* * *

Michelle’s first rehearsal for the show is everything she hoped it would be and more. She’s still keyed up on excitement and adrenaline as she steps out of the back door of the theater into the relative quiet of the street beyond. It’s exhilarating—the thrill of being on stage, the praise of the director still ringing in her ears and the congratulatory jubilation of her cast mates backstage still buoying her up. She can only imagine what it will feel like when she takes the stage for their first show in front of an audience. 

It’s a feeling she’s sure she’ll never tire of, one that makes everything around her feel more vibrant and clear and meaningful. It’s a reminder that all of this is worth it—all the rejections, all the running around to auditions, every unsatisfying bit part that got cut. This is what she’s been hustling for, this is  _ why  _ she keeps grinding day-after-day.

Michelle’s sharing one last parting hug with one of her new cast mates when she hears a familiar voice calling her name.

“Hey! MJ!”

Michelle turns, blinking in surprise as she sees Peter trotting towards her, a huge smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly as he comes to a stop in front of her. “Wow—you were fantastic, just...wow. Look at you. I knew you were gonna be great, but you were... _ fantastic.” _

Michelle feels a bloom of heat in her chest. “You came to the rehearsal?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” Peter says, beaming at her. He lifts up a wilted bouquet of roses he’d been carrying behind his back, his smile turning shy and sheepish. “Here. I, uh...I got you these. I had to buy them a few days ago ‘cause it was the only free time I had, and I’ve been hanging onto them, but I’m an idiot and forgot to put them in water, so they’re looking pretty sad now. Sorry. You deserve, like, a room full of flowers, but—“

“They’re beautiful,” Michelle says sincerely, cutting off his rambling. She smiles as she takes them. “Thanks. You know this was just a rehearsal, right? You didn’t need to get me flowers.”

Peter smiles back at her, shrugging. “I know, but this is a really big deal. I thought we should celebrate.” He clears his throat, tugging on the hem of his jacket. “I thought maybe...we could go to dinner or something? I mean, like, if you don’t have other plans, or…”

Michelle looks at him, feeling another blossom of warmth unfurl in her chest, something soft and tender, and she welcomes it.

She wants this, she’s decided, and she has always gone after what she wants with a single-minded purpose. 

All she needs to do now is actually  _ talk _ to Peter about how she feels. Weeks ago the thought of having such a conversation with him would have been ludicrous to her, but now, boosted by the confidence getting this dream role has given her, she feels ready. 

_ Give me one last little favor,  _ she makes a silent plea to the universe.

“Can we maybe just, I dunno...grab take out and go to your place and, like...hang out?” she asks, inwardly cringing at how awkward she sounds.

Peter’s demeanor instantly changes, his whole body going stiff and his eyes wide and round. Michelle swears she witnesses his brain come grinding to a halt. For a very long moment he just stands frozen and stares at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“My place?” he finally repeats, his voice cracking.

“Yeah. I mean...you live close by, right? I just...figured that would be easier than going all the way to my apartment.” Michelle explains. 

Peter blinks, and then visibly collects himself. He clears his throat again, nodding and giving her a pained grin. “Yeah. Yeah—I do. Live nearby. Yep. We can go to my place, absolutely. Why not? Great idea.”

“Okay,” Michelle says, smiling again in amusement this time. 

“Okay! You like Thai?” Peter chirps with artificial brightness. “There’s a great place around the corner from my apartment.”

“Love Thai,” Michelle says, forging her way through the awkwardness. She slips her arm through his, letting him lead the way.

* * *

A short while later, take out bags in hand, they finally arrive at Peter’s apartment.

The residential building where the apartment is located is, as Michelle fully expected, an utterly depressing one, with dark, dirty stairwells and narrow hallways that smell like cat piss and cigarettes. Michelle doesn’t judge, though, fully aware that this is exactly the sort of place she’d be living in if it wasn’t for Gwen’s generosity.

They stop in front of a door on the eighth floor. Peter unlocks it, and then pauses, turning to Michelle with a sheepish expression.

“Hey, uh...do you mind waiting here for like, one minute?” he asks.

Michelle raises her eyebrows, smirking at him. “What, do you need time to hide all your drugs?”

“Nah, I have a dead body in my bathtub I need to get rid of, actually,” Peter replies without missing a beat. “No worries—I got a big duffel bag I can stuff it in.”

Michelle lets out a laugh, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him in mock exasperation. “Okay, then, sure, in that case I can wait.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it. Just  _ one  _ minute,” Peter says, opening the door just enough to shimmy through it and then immediately closing and locking it behind him.

Michelle waits, rolling her eyes again. She’s been over to enough bachelor pads to know what the horror scene on the other side of the door probably looks like, picturing Peter frantically throwing away moldy pizza boxes and tossing dirty underwear under the mattress. The rushed tidy job is a waste of time in her experience, but she thinks it’s a little cute that he’s at least trying for her.

The door opens again, wider this time, Peter appearing slightly flushed from exertion, another apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry. That was wildly embarrassing. Please come in.”

Michelle steps through the door, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher as she looks around the tiny shoebox studio. The hastily tidied mess she had been expecting is nowhere to be seen, but only because there is barely anything in the apartment  _ all all— _ just a futon and a battered dresser, with an equally battered desk bearing a precarious stack of thick chemistry textbooks shoved into a corner, and a little kitchenette that looks like it’s never been used. The walls are completely bare except for one that’s covered in what looks to be a bedsheet hung by thumbtacks.

“Okay, do you actually  _ live _ here?” she asks.

“I  _ sleep  _ here. Sometimes,” Peter replies with another pained smile.

“Uh-huh,” Michelle hums, a little dubious smile turning up her lips as she surveys the spartan apartment again. Her eyebrows climb even higher when the bedsheet tacked to the wall pulls loose at one corner, drooping to reveal that the wall behind it is covered in a collage of newspaper clippings and maps and grainy photos. A web of red string criss-crossed around thumbtacks overlays the display.

Michelle turns towards Peter with a questioning look. 

Peter has the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face again, his wide eyes darting from Michelle to the wall and back again.

“It’s, uhhhh...a game. A...murder mystery game,” he explains. “One of those subscription boxes, you know? They send you clues and...Ned and I do it together.”

“Uh-huh,” Michelle says again, smiling. “It’s okay—I know you're a nerd. You don’t have to hide it.”

Peter gives her a weak smile in return. “Ha, thanks.” He clears his throat, holding up the bag of take out. “Anyway...we should eat before this gets cold. I don’t have a table, or chairs, or...we could eat out on the fire escape? The one thing this apartment  _ does  _ have is a great view.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Michelle agrees. 

She climbs through the window after Peter, out onto a rickety fire escape. Peter seems to relax a little once they’re outside, the familiarity they’ve built up over the months returning, and Michelle is soon laughing and joking with him, her own awkwardness forgotten.

“This whole thing still feels surreal,” she says, digging shrimp out of the bottom of her take out carton with chopsticks. “I really feel like this is my big break. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

“I can,” Peter says, smiling at her. “I’ve never met anybody who goes as hard as you do after your dreams. You work so hard, and you got so much passion...I really love that about you.”

Michelle smiles back at him, feeling her stomach do a funny little flip. 

“Peter…” she starts, and then she halts, trying to find the right words to tell him how she feels.

_ Be careful, MJ,  _ Gwen’s warning rings sudden and ominous in the back of Michelle’s mind, but Michelle banishes it.

She gives up searching for words for the moment, leaning over and kissing Peter, soft and sweet, instead. Peter returns it, reaching up to cup her face in his hands. They part for a moment, their faces still so close they’re almost touching. 

Peter looks into Michelle’s eyes, his expression tender, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear before kissing her again, deeper this time, and Michelle feels heat stir low in her belly.

“You wanna go inside?” Peter murmurs against her lips.

“Yeah,” Michelle says as she gets to her feet, a now familiar thrill of anticipation running up her spine.

They climb back through the window, clumsily this time because they’re already busily exploring each other with hands and mouths. They fumble and trip their way over to the futon, tumbling down onto it.

“The first big Hollywood check I get, I’m gonna buy you an actual bed with a nice mattress,” Michelle tells Peter, already breathless, her back arching as he mouths along her throat and makes goosebumps rise across her skin.

“First big Hollywood check you get, and you’ll forget all about me,” Peter replies, lifting his head to give her a wry, teasing smile.

But Michelle props herself up on an elbow, her eyes serious as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“I won’t,” she promises, tilting her face up to kiss him. 

She sits up, reaching for the hem of her shirt and slipping it off over her head. She gets rid of her jeans and underwear next, Peter shifting over to help tug them down her legs while she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra. She slides it from her shoulders, twirling it around for a moment with a finger hooked through the strap while she playfully smirks at Peter, before tossing it aside.

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, leaning forward to kiss her again, his hands stroking up and down her naked thighs.

“You’re so pretty,” Peter tells her, like he did their first time together, and this time Michelle doesn’t try to turn it into a joke. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close, gasping into his mouth as his fingers trail up her sides and caress her breasts, thumbs ghosting over her nipples.

“You’re gorgeous. And you're brilliant. And I’m so happy for you,” Peter continues, punctuating each sentence with a kiss—to her mouth, the base of her throat, her right breast. Michelle gasps again as his fingers find their way between her thighs, sliding between her lips and lightly teasing the little bead there until her inner thighs are slick and glistening with her arousal. 

Peter sucks a mark into her skin under her clavicle, and then starts to kiss his way down her torso.

Michelle stops him, though, her hands holding his shoulders. Peter raises his head, a questioning look on his face.

“Take your clothes off,” Michelle says. “I want to look at you.”

Peter sits up and yanks his shirt off, giving her a cheeky grin as he flexes, making his pecs jump. “Like what you see?”

Michelle rolls her eyes, laughing as she plants a foot against his chest to give him a little shove. “You are such a corny nerd.”

“You love it,” Peter says, still grinning. He folds a hand around her ankle to hold her in place as he bends his head to place a row of kisses along her leg.

Michelle stops him again once he reaches the inside of her knee, tugging him up and pressing a hand to his chest.

“Lie back. Let me take care of you,” she orders softly.

“We’re supposed to be celebrating you tonight,” Peter reminds her, sounding amused, but he does what he’s told, lying back on the futon.

“Yeah, and this is how I wanna celebrate,” Michelle murmurs with a coy, hungry smile, running her nails lightly down the firm ridges of his abs. 

She pops the button of Peter’s jeans with her thumb, then slides backwards to kneel between his knees. She drags the zipper down slowly, her smile curling wider as his erection immediately springs up through the parted fabric, straining against the material of his briefs.

“Someone’s eager,” Michelle says with another smirk, rubbing Peter’s hard on through the cloth with the heel of her hand.

“Can you blame me?” Peter asks with a droll smile, sitting up on his elbows to watch her.

“It’s always very flattering,” Michelle says honestly, leaning forward to mouth at his cloth-covered dick, eager to feel the weight of it on her tongue again herself.

She sits back, tugging at the waistband of his briefs. Peter lifts his hips and helps her shimmy the rest of his clothes off. Michelle tosses them aside, immediately scooting in closer between his knees and wrapping a hand around him, feeling his dick jump in her firm grip as she strokes him, an answering throb pulsing between her own legs.

She bends her head to take him in her mouth, and spends the next several minutes leisurely taking him apart with her lips and tongue and fingers, until Peter is restlessly shifting around and making soft little noises.

“Fuck,” he says breathlessly, face flushed, when Michelle finally pulls off, licking flushed lips as she smiles at him.

“Condom?”

“Yeah, uh...back pocket of my jeans,” Peter says, still looking a little dazed.

Michelle finds his wallet in the pocket and grabs a condom out of it, fumbling a little in her eagerness to open the packet. She rolls it on him and then climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs. She rubs the hot hard length of him along the slippery heat between her legs, her head thrown back and her eyes half-closed with pleasure, until she can’t wait any long and slips him inside.

Peter sits up, his arms sliding up her hips and behind her back, pressing her close as her hips rise and fall at a slow, steady pace, his eyes soft as he gazes up at her.

“MJ…” he murmurs, something so tender in his voice that it makes Michelle’s chest ache. “MJ…”

Michelle cups his face in her hands and kisses him, then buries her face in the curve of his neck as she chases the heat building low in her belly, lost in pleasure as Peter’s hands find their way to her hips again to guide her, her own hand slipping down between their bodies to touch the slick place where they meet.

Peter finishes first, his arms wrapping tight around Michelle’s waist and pulling her down flush against his hips as he says her name again, gasping it into her hair, and that’s what sends her tumbling over the edge with him.

Peter lies back on the futon, pulling Michelle with him so she’s lying atop him, her head cradled on his chest. She can hear his heartbeat thumping away under her ear in perfect pace with her own racing pulse, and some of Peter’s corny romance must have rubbed off on her after their months together, because she takes this as a sign that what she feels for him is real, that they’re meant to be together.

She wets her lips, lifting her head to look at Peter. 

“Peter...I need to tell you something,” she says, the sound of her pulse in her ears getting even louder.

Peter tilts his own head up to look back at her, brushing her hair away from her face with his hand. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Michelle says, wetting her lips again. “I think...I have feelings for you. I  _ know _ I do. Peter...I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you, and...”

She trails off, overwhelmed, the vulnerability of this confession leaving her feeling raw and exposed and lighter than air all at the same time.

Peter blinks at her, looking momentarily stunned, before his expression softens. He reaches to stroke her hair again.

“MJ…” he starts, but he’s cut off by the sound of his phone noisily buzzing on the floor. He hesitates, his eyes flicking from Michelle to the phone, indecision clear on his face.

_ Just leave it,  _ Michelle silently pleads.  _ Just this one time, leave it. _

But Peter gently tips her off him onto her side, sitting up and picking his phone up off the floor.

“Hello?” he says into it as he presses it to his ear, his free hand rubbing up and down his thigh while his knee bounces. He listens to whomever it is on the other end of the call, his posture rigid, while Michelle silently watches him. She feels cold now, lying alone and naked on the futon, uncovered in more ways than one.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in fifteen,” Peter finally says, ending the call. He looks down between his knees at the floor for a moment, his head hanging on his neck, before turning towards Michelle with an apologetic expression. “MJ, I’m sorry, but--”

“You gotta go. It’s fine,” Michelle says, unable to keep the chilliness she’s feeling out of her voice. She sits up and starts collecting her clothes, numbly tugging them back on.

“MJ…” Peter says again, reaching for her, but she shies away from his hand, standing up to slide her feet into her shoes. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure whatever you got going on is really important,” Michelle says, giving him a tight smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“MJ,” Peter says again, getting to his own feet, but Michelle is already slipping out the door into the dingy hallway beyond.

_ Don’t cry, Jones. No man is worth crying over,  _ she firmly tells herself as she gets into the elevator at the end of the hall. 

But the tears come anyway, running silently down her cheeks as she wonders how she could be this stupid after she’d been warned so many times to stay away.


	8. Chapter 8

Michelle’s phone buzzes on the sleek wood countertop of the bar. She glances at the screen, pursing her lips. The call is from Peter—the fourth one in as many hours.

Michelle ignores it, just like she’d ignored all the others, turning the phone over onto its face. If it’s a childish response, she really doesn’t care. She rattles the melting ice cubes in her tumbler, signaling the bartender for another drink.

Harry joins her as the bartender hands her a fresh glass, sliding onto a stool beside her and folding his arms on the bar top, his expression sympathetic.

“What’s the poison of choice tonight, Jones?” he asks.

“Whiskey. Top shelf, now that you’re here,” Michelle replies, taking a sip of the amber liquid in her tumbler.

“Cheers to that,” Harry says, motioning to the bartender. He angles himself towards Michelle again, linking his fingers together. “I thought you were inviting me here for a celebratory drink to toast your success, but now I get the impression that’s not the case.”

Michelle lets out a humorless huff of laughter. “I just wanted some company. If I drink alone at a bar, eventually some creep will come over to chat me up.”

“So you needed a creep buffer. I can do that,” Harry says with a sardonic grin, sipping his own whiskey. He looks over at her again, his expression softening. “You look like you could use a shoulder to cry on, too.”

Michelle says nothing for a moment, clenching her jaw as she swirls the ice. But Harry has always been kind to her, a genuine nice guy. She’d found that quality about him a little dull during their brief romance, but as a friend she treasures it. Michelle loves Gwen with all her heart, but if Gwen had any flaws it was her tendency towards righteousness, whereas Ned could be forgiving to a fault. Harry, though—Harry has always been even-keeled and fair, and Michelle finds it easy to be completely honest with him in a way she can’t with her other friends.

“This is going to shock you, but Peter and I...we’ve become friends,” she admits. “And maybe...more than friends.”

Harry laughs. “I’m not shocked at all, actually. You could practically see hearts pouring out of Pete’s ears anytime you talked to him, even when you were barking at him about what a shit coworker he is. And you…” he smiles at Michelle, “you’ve always been a secret softie. I knew you’d be hooked the moment you got a little glimpse at his inner life.”

Michelle scoffs, gulping down the rest of the whiskey in her tumbler. “Yeah, well, don’t look so pleased with yourself. This whole thing was a mistake. Gwen warned me against it, but…”

She trails off, feeling a lump in her throat, a twist of grief followed immediately by a rush of anger.

“I’m so stupid,” she continues, a slight quaver in her voice. “I’m so...I told him I caught feelings for him, and he  _ left. _ It wasn’t like I even...I didn’t expect him to say he loved me, too—I mean, I  _ hoped… _ but he could have stayed to talk to me at least, you know? He could have...made me feel like what I said was  _ important.  _ But he left…”

Harry makes a soft, distressed sound, leaning into Michelle’s shoulder. “MJ...I  _ know _ Peter. And even if I didn’t, anyone with eyes and half a brain cell can tell he’s completely smitten with you. If he left, then I’m  _ sure _ he had a very good reason—“

“God,  _ don’t,”  _ Michelle snaps, cutting him off. “I am so  _ sick  _ of listening to you guys defend him in one breath while admitting that he’s awful in the next. Just seriously— _ why _ do you do it?”

Harry looks away, his eyes downcast towards his glass of whiskey. He sits silently for a moment, his jaw tight, before saying, quietly, “I know Peter has his...flaws. If he was anybody else, I would’ve fired him as my employee a long time ago, and as my friend I would have cut him out of my life. But...he was there for me at the absolute lowest time of my life. He stuck by me when everything else was going to hell, and I can’t forget that.”

“Harry…” Michelle says softly, putting her hand on his arm. 

She knows he’s talking about his father’s death, something he rarely ever mentions. She hadn’t known Harry very well then, but she remembers the lurid rumors surrounding Norman Osborn’s death and Spider-Man’s involvement in it being splashed everywhere across the media for weeks on end, and the way Harry had retreated from the world while the tabloids torn apart his personal life like a flock of starving vultures. He’d picked himself back up again, selling his majority share in Oscorp and settling into a quiet life running the Coffee Bean outside of the prying eyes of the public, but Michelle knows Norman’s death and the questions surrounding its circumstances still haunt Harry.

“After my father died...I was in a dark place. All I could think about was... _ revenge.  _ If it hadn’t been for Pete, I’d probably have ended up going down the same destructive road my father had taken. But Peter refused to let that happen.” Harry lifts his head to look at Michelle, offering her a small smile. “Don’t give up on him yet, okay? I promise he won’t ever give up on you.”

Michelle chews her lip, internally warring with a storm of indecision.

“I’ll...think about it,” she says finally. _ “Grudgingly.  _ You know I don’t like to waste my time.”

“I know.” Harry’s smile widens as he straightens up. “Why don’t you let me walk you home? If you keep drinking like this, you’re gonna regret it in the morning.”

Michelle returns his smile. “I can handle my liquor. But thanks, Har. I probably should go home.”

She collects her purse and follows him out the door into the relative quiet of the street beyond, feeling a little lighter. Emotionally, at least—the alcohol she’d consumed smacks her straight in the face now that she’s moving. She leans heavily into Harry’s side, stumbling.

“I might be a little drunk,” she confesses.

“You don’t say,” Harry replies sardonically, smiling as he puts a supportive arm around her shoulders. “How about you take the afternoon shift tomorrow? I’ll cover for you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Michelle says, smiling up at him as she wraps her own arm around his waist. “Have I mentioned lately what a great boss you are?”

Harry snorts. “Yes, but it’s always nice to—“

Something large swoops low over their heads, forcing them to duck. Michelle spits out an expletive while Harry stumbles, the two of them grabbing at each other in surprise as they crouch on the sidewalk, cowering, their heads swiveling around.

Michelle spots Spider-Man perched on top of a street light on the other side of the intersection, the white lenses of his mask narrowed as he gazes across the street at her and Harry before he takes off, swinging away into the darkness.

“What the  _ fuck? _ Did you see that?” Michelle asks angrily, her heart still hammering in her chest. “Spider-Man just dive-bombed us. What a dick.”

“A total menace,” Harry agrees breathlessly, straightening up and pulling Michelle to her feet. “Come on, let’s get home.”

Michelle hurries along beside him, casting a glance over her shoulder. But Spider-Man has disappeared as suddenly as he’d showed up.

  
  


* * *

  
“Can I get past you?”

Michelle bites her tongue, fuming as she glares at Peter before saying, “No one’s stopping you.”

Peter seems to grind his teeth, looking like he’s going to say something only for the bell from the door to ring - indicating another customer was coming in. 

He moves past her without saying a word, only for Michelle to catch the eye roll he gives as he does. If there wasn’t a moody looking college kid walking her way, Michelle would’ve given him a piece of her mind. Instead, Michelle is a professional, putting on her best smile and greeting the new customer as Peter does God knows what on the other side of the counter.

It’d been this like all day for their shift, the tension between the two of them not so dissimilar to how it’d been all those months ago before they’d made out in the backroom.

But things are different now then they were then. For one, Michelle has zero desire to even  _ look _ at Peter Parker’s dumb face much less kiss him - hurt in more ways than one that he not only dipped out after she’d essentially confessed her love to him but now had the audacity to act like  _ she _ was the asshole here.

_ Two can play at that game _ , Michelle thought. It was petty and vindictive and yet all Michelle could circle back to was that Gwen was  _ right _ . She should’ve never let Peter’s dumb self charm his way into her bed, much less into her heart, wiping the frothing machine as she finishes making a latte. 

This is why she doesn’t let people close to her, why she should’ve stuck with her first, initial impression of Peter - even if that first impression ran completely in the face of the person that she knew Peter to be. 

Or at least, who she  _ thought _ he was.

They work in silence, as much as they possibly can - the hours creeping by so slowly that it makes her want to tear her hair out only for Harry to walk in. 

“Hey guys,” Harry says, his eyes darting between the two of them. Michelle is tacitly ignoring Peter as he restocks the milk, putting out pastries as she nods hello to Harry. “How’s everything going?”

“I don’t know,  _ Harry _ . How  _ is _ everything going? Surprised you’re up and walking around,” Peter snaps, Michelle looking at him in surprise just as Harry does. 

“Did I… walk into something?” Harry asks, looking back to Michelle who just looks back at Peter incredulously.

Peter snorts, an ugly sound made uglier from the eye roll he gives and mutters something under his breath.

“What the hell is your problem?” Michelle asks, Peter gritting his teeth again before gazing at her - a flash of hurt, anger and something else she can’t quite place passing through his eyes before he says, “ _ My _ problem? Nothing. I don’t have a problem.”

“Sure as hell sounds like it,” Michelle says, reaching her limit as she slams down the pastry window. She puts the tongs up, facing Peter who just stares back at her with a disbelieving look on his face. 

“It’s not, but I’m sure you and  _ Harry _ will talk about it later,” he says, glaring at Harry who Michelle can see back up a little out of the corner of her eye - just as confused as Michelle feels only for that confusion to turn further into anger as she stands up straighter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, Peter just glaring at the two of them before sighing loudly - reaching behind his back and untying his apron.

“Nothing. I’m done.”

“That’s it? You’re  _ done _ ? With what?” Michelle snaps back, Peter sighing loudly in annoyance before pointing to the clock behind her.

“Our shift. You have an issue with that?” 

“No,” Michelle says, staring down Peter who looks as if he wants to say something more - Michelle wondering what he possibly  _ could _ say to explain himself. 

It was clear that he didn’t care about her like that, if ever really cared about her at all. But him acting like an asshole out of nowhere and taking it out on her and Harry for no reason, was making Michelle regret ever sleeping with him in the first place.

Brad-or-maybe-David had been a damn disappointment but it didn’t compare to finding out the guy you’d fallen for was really an asshole in disguise. 

Peter rips off his apron, the strings that tied around his neck actually snapping off. Michelle’s mouth drops open in shock before she can stop it, Peter just staring down at it in frustration before throwing it over the counter towards Harry.

“Take it out of my check,” he snaps, turning away from the two of them and toward the back door without another word.

Michelle just stares in disbelief, turning back to Harry who looks dumbfounded as he picks up the ripped apron.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Harry asks.

Michelle sighs, rolling her eyes and shaking her head in annoyance. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Harry looks as if he’s going to say something more only for another customer to show up. It was technically the end of her shift but the last place in the world that she wanted to be was around Peter Parker right now, forcing another smile on her face as she walked to the cash register and distracted herself with another customer, rather than the anger and the regret she feels churning in her gut. 

* * *

“For the thousandth time, I’m fine,” Michelle says, ignoring the stare she can feel that Gwen is giving her.

“MJ…”

“I mean it,  _ go _ ,” she says, smooshing the sandwich she’s made down so it’s a little bit flatter.

Gwen makes a weird sound, almost like a laugh - Michelle snapping her head up to look at her only to see Gwen immediately school her features.

“What?” She asks, Gwen looking as if she was debating something with herself as she bites her lip.

“Nothing,” Gwen says unconvincingly, the nosier part of her wanting to know what was so funny about her smooshing down her sandwiches so flat when Gwen continues, “Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want me to stay home?”

“Yes, I’m very,  _ very _ sure I don’t want you to stay home with me, rather than go to that fancy Oscorp party.”

Gwen purses her lips, looking as if she was going to try and argue with her again about joining only for Michelle to interject as she says, “And before you try again, no. I’m good. I don’t want to go.”

“But there’ll be a  _ lot  _ of rich people there, maybe even a few millionaires who could use a good take down,” Gwen says helpfully, Michelle acting as if she was briefly considering the proposition even if she had no intention of taking her up on it. 

Michelle was never one to turn down a party, especially not one that had the opportunity for free food, free drinks and a chance to put members of the bourgeoisie in their place. If Michelle was smarter about it, she  _ would _ go out and have a good time - getting over Peter by getting  _ under  _ someone else.

But therein lies the catch, something Michelle doesn’t even want to admit to herself even as she shakes her head and declines for the thousandth time.

“I’m good, promise. Now go before you’re late,” Michelle says with a huge smile, crediting her acting abilities for the way Gwen studies her before finally relenting.

As Gwen says her final goodbyes, grabbing her purse and the heels she’s going to change into when she finally makes it to Oscorp as she leaves, Michelle wonders if she’s making a mistake - choosing to wallow here at home rather than do something that would arguably be a better use of her time. 

Peter had been an ass at work last week and had completely fallen off the place of the planet in the days since, to the point where if Michelle wasn’t so annoyed at him ditching the Coffee Bean that she’d reach out to him and make sure he was still alive.

She guessed so, if Ned’s distracted looks at lunch yesterday indicated. Michelle had almost asked how he was doing, only to stop herself - thinking that to do so would make it seem too much like she was a nosy ex rather than a mutual friend.

_ We would’ve had to have dated to be an ex anything _ , Michelle thinks to herself - grabbing the plate her sandwich is on and moving to the couch. They hadn’t been anything really, not quite friends who fucked and nothing more. Michelle’s stomach churns not just from hunger but for the bitter taste that left in her mouth and how much of a lie that felt to even think. 

She sits down on the couch and turns on the tv, skipping channels before she finds something mindless and tries - yet fails - not to run through her and Peter’s relationship the past few months.

It wasn’t even fair to say they hadn’t become friends in the time in between, enough that despite Michelle bearing her heart to him - the hard switch of Peter acting like an asshole then completely disappearing bothered her. 

It didn’t help that the whole city felt on edge because of some new shit with Spider-Man and the freaky villains that blocked up traffic - the lizard guy and some idiot in a rhino costume teaming up and causing havoc around the city, destroying a subway station a few blocks away from the Coffee Bean. 

It was stressful and chaotic enough that even her show - her big break - was put on a two week delay, not just because of the chaos but because Michelle clearly needed the extra practice time, distracted in a way that was nearly embarrassing. 

_ Get it together Jones _ , Michelle says to herself for the three thousandth time - forcing her attention back to whatever mindless television show she’d chosen and the sandwich on her lap instead of the worry of whether her big break would end up being a big flop. 

And certainly not on the regret she feels from ever taking the leap with Peter.

She’s only halfway through her sandwich and still unsuccessfully distracting herself when she hears a large slam against her window, the sound scaring her so much she jolts in surprise.

That surprise turns into confusion when she glances over and sees  _ Spider-Man _ , his hand resting on the window of the living room - smearing some kind of dirt around as he banged it gently, his head leaning against the window as well. 

Michelle stares for a beat, only for her heart to race and for her stomach to drop when she notices that it wasn’t dirt that Spider-Man was drawing circles with around their window but  _ blood _ . 

Michelle immediately places her plate on the coffee table and leaps up to move to the window. It occurs to her in the back of her mind that this is - objectively - weird as hell, a rush of panic flowing through her at the idea that there was some kind of danger out there that was on its way for how beat up Spider-Man looked.

She gently opens the window, Spider-Man leaning up just enough to do so before throwing his body weight forward again - stumbling into her living room as Michelle silently freaks out.

“What— are you okay?” she asks dumbly, legs shaking under the weight of him as Spider-Man mumbles something under his breath. The panic she’d felt seconds before continues to rise, Spider-Man half falling, half-leaning onto the ground of the living room as he wheezes.

“Okay uh, not okay. Got it,” she says, putting on a much braver face than she feels as she helps stable him on the ground - only for her eyes to widen when she sees the dark, bloody gashes alongside the front of the suit as well as some kind of deep cut along his side that makes her stomach queasy. He looks like he’s been slashed and skewered, like something out of a video game but in high definition— wheezing and bleeding out on her and Gwen’s living room floor. 

“Shit,” she mutters, Spider-Man letting out a laugh that quickly turns into a cough - wet and wheezing in a way that does nothing to quell the panic she feels as he affirms, “Not s’good, Red.”

Michelle glances up to the white eyes of the mask, feeling something zap into place at his words as she places a hand to his side. Spider-Man hisses in pain but Michelle’s mind and heart are working in overdrive, blinking a few times as she asks, “What did you call me?”

Spider-Man doesn’t answer, Michelle’s panic completely boiling over as he goes completely limp. His head rolls backwards to the point of hitting the floor, Michelle immediately freaking out as she stammers.

“Hey! Hey, wake up. Come on Spider-Man, wake up!”

Spider-Man says nothing, Michelle’s heart feeling like it was gonna pound out of her chest for how immediately still he’s gone - pressing one hand down to the wound on his side and the other immediately reaching for his mask.

In hindsight, Michelle would think that all the clues were so blatantly,  _ painfully  _ obvious that there’s no reason she could’ve missed it. Every single interaction making that much more sense if she really thought about it.

But in the moment, panicked and already on edge, there’s nothing to prepare her for the shock she feels when Michelle lifts up Spider-Man’s mask from his chin - ripping it off as her eyes go wide when she sees who it is. 


	9. Chapter 9

“What the _fuck_ !” Michelle exclaims, loud enough that Spider-Man — _Peter_ — stirs, eyes fluttering a few times as he groans.

“Peter, what the hell? You’re— what happened?” she asks, mind running a mile a minute as she tries and fails to stave down the panic clawing at her throat.

Peter’s eyes flutter once more before they shut, the horrifying and wet wheezing sound he gives off churning up her insides as she frantically glances around.

“What do I do? What do I do? What the _fuck_ ,” Michelle mutters to herself, frozen in a way that feels wholly uncomfortable to her as her mind tries to process just what the hell is in front of her. 

Peter is Spider-Man, something that’s so _mind-numbingly_ obvious that it smacks her in the face, pressing down on the gaping wound at his side and wondering who the hell she can call-- only for it to smack her again at the idea that _Gwen_ would be the perfect person to call.

 _Of course_ Gwen knows the truth, just as Ned does, wondering if even Harry knows and she’s the one left out in the cold as her eyes finally lock onto her couch and to where her cell phone is. 

She looks to Peter who lets out a truly pitiful sounding wheeze that just churns up her insides, nearly frozen with indecision. Every basic first aid piece of information that she’s ever absorbed telling her it was a _bad_ idea to let pressure of the gaping hole in his side but Michelle knows the alternative is having Peter bleed out in her living room.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Michelle stammers, ripping off her shirt and shoving it to his side - catching how the shirt already starts to soak through as she runs towards the couch, grabbing her cell phone and running back.

Her hands are shaking as she scrolls to Gwen’s contact information, fingers bloody and smearing across the screen as she presses down on the shirt she has on Peter’s side with the other hand.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Michelle says, her whole body vibrating with anxiety as she looks at Peter’s slack face - the only thing that keeps her from falling into a full scale panic attack being the sharp rise and fall of his chest, no matter how wet his breathing sounds - as she waits for Gwen to finally answer.

Just when Michelle thinks she’s going to be sent to voicemail and will have to scramble and call someone else, Gwen _finally_ answers, Michelle never being more glad to hear her voice as Gwen says, “Hello?” 

“Peter’s bleeding out,” Michelle says in a rush, “I don’t know what to do.”

It’s a credit to Gwen’s sensibility and to her quick thinking that she doesn’t patronize her or try and ask for more questions, saying instead, “Where and how much?”

“Um,” Michelle says, adjusting the phone to be held between her head and her shoulder as she forces both hands down to his side, “there’s a big one on his side--”

“Right or left?” Gwen interjects, Michelle hearing a change in the sound of the background and getting the impression that she’s moving away. 

“The right,” she says, Gwen breathing heavy as Michelle continues, “he’s lost like, a shit ton of blood. I don’t know how he’s even breathing.”

Michelle lets out a laugh that’s shaky, Gwen sobering up on the other line as Michelle amends, “But he is. Breathing. For now.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good,” Gwen says lightly, in the same tone that Michelle remembers well from all the times that Gwen’s been stressed at work and actively trying not to. “I’m heading home now okay? I have to hang up, I need to call someone to go and help him but I will call you _right_ back okay? I’m gonna call you right back.” 

“Okay,” Michelle says as Gwen repeats herself.

“I’m gonna hang up now okay? But I’ll call you right back.”

Gwen hangs up just as she says, Michelle using a bloody hand to hang up the phone before setting it down, looking back at Peter’s face. He looks white as a sheet now, his breathing coming in quick, sharp breaths as Michelle puts her hands back on his side.

Michelle’s too shocked to even be angry, keeping all her attention and focus on hoping that he doesn’t bleed out rather than the all too terrifying possibility that he may not make it to whenever help arrives. 

* * *

Michelle barely registers the hours that tick by, still reeling from everything that’s happened since Spider-Man—since _Peter—_ showed up at her place bleeding to death.

By the time Gwen had arrived home, bursting through the door with her hair wild and her face flushed from running, Michelle’s mind had slipped from staticky panic to a kind of numb state of shock, where her entire world narrowed to the single act of keeping her hands pressed against the wound in Peter’s side to stem the seemingly endless torrent of blood.

The help that Gwen had promised had arrived soon after she had—the help being none other than Tony Stark and a sweaty, heavyset man whom Stark kept referring to, unfittingly, as _Happy._ If Michelle’s brain hadn’t already short-circuited from shock and panic, she would have found the fact that Iron Man was in her apartment possibly the most surreal moment of her life.

What she had felt instead was a desperate kind of hope as the two men had set to work stopping the bleeding before hauling Peter off to a waiting car, and then from there to a helicopter.

Michelle had, for reasons unknown to her, been allowed to join the rescue team on their flight. She’d sat in the back and held Peter’s cold hand in her own, still stained with his blood.

“You’re not allowed to die,” she’d murmured to him sternly, the slight trembling of her voice betraying her fear. _Please don’t die._

_I love you._

That had been hours and hours ago. Michelle shifts in the chair she’s been perched in ever since they’d arrived here, at the Avengers’ new facility, and she’d finally had to let Peter’s hand go as the medical team whisked him away from her.

She finds herself wishing, for the hundredth time, that Gwen had been able to come along with her so she wouldn’t have to be waiting in this room alone. There’s a part of her that wants to be furious with her friend for not coming clean about Peter, but then she remembers that Gwen _had_ warned her about Peter, over and over and over again, and Michelle had brushed her off.

_He’s going to break your heart in the worst way one day._

Michelle pleads with whatever omnipotent powers that may exist that this won’t be that day.

It’s a plea she silently keeps up as another hour passes, and another and another and another. The sun is shining high through the eastern facing windows of the room where Michelle sits alone when Tony Stark finally reappears, looking like he’s aged a decade since the last time Michelle laid eyes on him.

“I gotta apologize,” he says to her immediately, skipping a greeting, which Michelle appreciates. “I didn’t mean to leave you here in limbo all night long, but things got hairy there. That’s no excuse—I should know by now how hard it is to be a superhero’s significant other.”

Michelle blinks at him, the reason that she was allowed to come along suddenly apparent to her. She feels heat bloom along her cheeks.

"Oh, no, we’re not—Peter and I aren’t—we’re just friends,” she explains lamely, plucking at the Stark Industries-branded shirt someone had given her to replace the one she’d used to stem Peter’s bleeding.

Tony looks dubious, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Because Pete’s been in there waxing rhapsodically about you for nearly an hour. You know what they say— _in vino veritas._ Or in this case, _in Dilaudid veritas,_ which probably packs a bigger punch, anyway. Might be time for a deathbed confession.”

“I’m kidding,” he adds hastily, when he sees the look of alarm on Michelle’s face. “Terrible joke. He’s fine. He’s gonna be just fine.”

Michelle feels all the air in her lungs leave her body in a whoosh, lightheaded from relief. “Can I see him?”

“Absolutely,” Tony replies.

He leads her down a hallway, stopping before a door and gesturing to it. 

“He’s still a little loopy, but the doc says he’ll be on his feet again in no time,” Tony tells Michelle. He offers her a little smirk. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

Michelle doesn’t reply to that, pushing the door open and slipping into the room. She finds that her heart is racing again as she cautiously approaches the privacy curtain pulled in front of the bed.

Her racing pulse turns into a flutter as she steps around the curtain and sees Peter. He’s lying propped up on a mountain of pillows, looking pale and groggy and so very _alive._

Michelle stands and stares at him, blinking back tears. Peter looks back at her, frowning.

“MJ? Oh man, this is a drug-induced hallucination, isn’t it?” he mumbles. “You’re so soft and pretty now, but any second you’re gonna dissolve into a pile of spiders or something whack like that. I know how this shit goes.”

Michelle lets out a teary laugh. “I thought you liked spiders, considering your alter-ego is named Spider-Man.”

Peter’s frown deepens, and then his eyes go very wide. “Oh, shit, this is real...MJ, I’m so, _so_ sorry...I just—I didn’t—“

“It’s okay,” Michelle cuts in, smiling. “It’s kinda a relief, actually. I mean, I used to think you were involved in crime or something, but as the perpetrator. So it’s nice to know I actually fell for a superhero, instead.”

Peter blinks at her, a hesitant smile of his own starting to turn up the corners of his mouth. “You mean...you still…?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Michelle says, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. She reaches for Peter’s hand, squeezing it.

Peter’s face softens as he looks up at her. “MJ...I’m so dumb. I should have just told you…”

Michelle huffs out a little laugh. “No, I’m dumb. I should have figured it out. It’s so _obvious_ now that you’re Spider-Man.”

“No, I don’t mean Spider-Man,” Peter says, his eyes shining. “I mean, I shoulda told you how I feel...I’m crazy about you, MJ. I’ve been crazy about you for a long time.”

Michelle smiles, squeezing his hand again. “I think I should have figured that out, too, but I’m really glad to hear it. Really, really glad.”

Peter returns her smile, and then his expression turns serious. “You should know that this isn’t the last time something like this is gonna happen. This is a crazy dangerous job, and I’ll try to keep you out of it, but—“

_No plan B’s. No regrets._

“I don’t want to be kept out of it,” Michelle says decisively. “If we’re gonna be together, then we gotta do this together.”

She smiles again. “I’m not a superhero, but I’m tough. I can handle it.”

Peter smiles back at her. “Yeah, I believe it. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He reaches up to brush her hair away from her face, his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck. He gently pulls her down for a kiss, soft and sweet and tender.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

“I love you, too,” Michelle says, smiling as she kisses him again and again and again, warmed through with the sense that she’s finally getting everything she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well... or has it? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> We love it when people scream at us in the comments. Come hang out with us on tumblr:  
> [gruoch](https://groo-ock.tumblr.com) and [seekrest](https://pursue-solitude.tumblr.com)


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